Aria of the Divine
by Banjodog
Summary: From birth, Marik Ishtar has been bound to fate. As he struggles to forge his own path...to regain a lost power...he becomes entangled in a war between gods, and the Millennium Rod may just have a plan of its own.
1. Solemn Overture

Aria of the Divine

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! And all related characters therein do not belong to me. They belong to Kazuki Takahashi. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: From the moment of birth, Marik Ishtar has been bound to fate. As he struggled to forge his own path...to regain a lost power...he becomes entangled in a war between gods, and the Millennium Rod may just have a plan of its own.

Author's Note: Wow. I'm finally posting the story that I've talked about for months! Welcome to Aria of the Divine, which is essentially a novelization of Marik's life, with of course my own interpretations, twists, and back/side stories. This story will be updated with a new chapter every two weeks, so I hope you all enjoy!

**Aria of the Divine**

_By, Banjodog_

Chapter One "Solemn Overture"

_Overture: introductory piece designed to initiate an opera or other dramatic piece_

The pain was excruciating. Shallow, raspy breaths filled the room as ten year old Marik Ishtar clutched the sweat soaked linen bedsheets. Platinum blonde locks fell across his violet eyes, but he made no movement to brush them away. The world consisted only of the pain, and the too bright firelight that seemed to give off no heat.

Marik grimaced as he rolled onto his side, clenching his eyes tightly shut. He reached a shaky hand out towards the glass of water on his bedside table, but the red pain that rippled through his shoulder ceased the effort. His hand swept across the glass, knocking it off the table even as he fell back onto his stomach. He missed the dark hand that shot out and caught the glass in its descent, spilling only a little of its contents.

"Mother...hurts...It hurts," Marik whispered as he fought to bring his arm back up to his pillow.

"Lord Marik," a steadier voice responded. Marik's eyes flew open, now fully aware of the gentle touch that tucked the stray strands of hair behind his ear.

"Odion."

"Yes, it is I."

"What...what are you doing here?"

Odion, Marik's servant, bowed deeply in atonement for his entrance without permission.

"I wanted to know how the ritual fared and if..." a glance at the glass in his hand. "If you needed anything. I can change your bandages."

"Don't touch me! If I needed anything, I would have called for you! Now leave!" Marik snapped, trying to reach behind him to swat Odion away, but another flash of pain stopped him short. A cry tore itself from his throat, but Odion did not move.

"Tell me, Odion. Who should I hate? Who should—"

Marik's statement was cut off with a gasp, the pain momentarily forgotten as it was replaced with astonishment. He had twisted again to snap at Odion when he saw the servant's face was covered with bandages.

"Odion...what..."

Odion slowly reached up, pushed back his hood, and unwound the bandages. He let the reddened cloths fall to the ground, and let his master see what he had done. What before had been a flawless, beautifully carved face was now broken by a tattoo that started halfway down the line of his nose, and spread to the left temple and down to the jaw. The tattoo consisted of several lines of heiroglyphics, but they were too small for Marik to clearly see. The marks were red yet, glowing and harsh looking against his milk chocolate skin.

"I couldn't stop your pain, my lord. But at least now, I can swear my loyalty to you."

Marik was silent for a long time, his energy too sapped to react with any great emotion.

"You are dismissed, Odion."

"My lord..."

"I _said_—"

"Yes, Lord Marik."

Odion set the glass of water down, closer to his master than it had been, and with another bow, he left the room. The candle wicks were small, and they would burn out soon on their own.

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"How is he?" a soft voice inqueried. Odion turned to see Marik's older sister, Isis, standing a few feet away. Her large blue eyes were wide with concern, and she had her hand clutched at her breast.

"Lord Marik is hurting, my Lady. The engraving was not gentle on him."

Isis frowned, her gaze moving to her feet and her hand falling back down to her thigh.

"As I feared."

"He will heal, my Lady. He is strong, and I believe there will be a quick recovery."

"It's not...as simple as that..." Isis' voice trailed off. There was a long pause, and just as Odion began to shift uncomfortably, Isis looked back at him. "And you, Odion? How are you faring?"

"I am well."

The corner of Isis' lips quirked slightly, but it faded just as quickly. She took a few steps forward, bridging the gap between them. She reached out a hand towards Odion's face, but stopped before any contact was made.

"It's all up to you," she said, bringing her hand back down. "It's your heart that will keep him safe."

"I'm not sure of your meaning, but if, as you say, this will keep master Marik safe, then I will not question it."

Isis gave a true smile that time, and gave a small nod of relief.

"I know. You may go, Odion. I'm sure there are some herbs in the kitchen that can ease the ache for you."

Odion bowed again and quickly strode off. Isis leaned against the wall, ignoring the chill of the stone and took several deep breaths to calm her nerves. When her heart was again steady, she made to leave when the torch nearest her flickered, dangerously close to going out. Narrowing her eyes, Isis straightened, and, gulping, headed down the corridor in the opposite way. Each torch she passed dimmed considerably, and all their warmth seemed stolen away by the darkness.

She walked through the labyrinth of corridors to end stopped in front of a plain wooden door. It looked ordinary enough, but Isis could feel the deep pulse of magic through it. Steeling her nerves, she pushed the door open.

The room was large and roughly octagonal, large pillars rising against the walls to support a high, vaulted ceiling. There were no decorations save for a large case that held two golden items: one a necklace, the other a small staff. Both held the symbol of the Eye of Ra upon them, and they glittered darkly in the firelight of their shrine. Isis' breath seemed caught in her chest as her attention was snared by the staff.

"My lord," she said, getting down on her knees and extending her arms out to touch her forehead against the ground. "I have done a great wrong. When you seek your revenge, I shall ask for no mercy."

She tried to keep her humble position, to reinforce her promise, but the negative energy in the shrine became far too unbearable, and she fled back to her own room. Once inside, she collapsed at her bedside and began a fervent strain of prayers.

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When Marik awoke, everything was pitch black. It was an all consuming darkness, but he knew this meant nothing. The Ishtar family lived deep underground, beneath the Egyptian desert, so night and day passed without consideration. He had only been aboveground once, and that action had cost him dearly. He was no longer allowed to see or talk to his sister, and several areas of the complex were off limits. However, since he had just received the mark of the Ishtar legacy, this held the hope of changing.

Marik winced as he thought of the tattoo that now spread from both shoulder blades down to the curve of his lower back, and a deep hatred boiled deep inside him. It was the mark of enslavement, a binding which no Ishtar could escape once it was placed upon them. He was now a Tomb Guardian, and he now carried the memory of a Pharaoh three thousand years dead. It was that Pharaoh that imprisoned Marik's ancestors, and bound their fate to not only his own, but that of the Millennium Items as well.

Commissioned and forged by the same Pharaoh that demarcated the Ishtars, the Items were a set of seven objects, each containing their own magical properties. Two of them, the Millennium Tauk and the Millennium Rod, were entrusted with the Ishtars, and were the reason for Marik's very existence. They were the reason that his family had to hide underground, forever alienated from the world. They were the reason that he could not speak with his sister, ride a motorbike, or even stand up to leave his room.

The familiar heat of anger churned in his stomach, but he was too tired and sore to follow through on it. Instead, he pushed himself off the bed and groped for the set of matches that he had seen a servant place on the bedside table earlier. Upon finding it, he quickly lit an unused candle and let it burn a moment while he caught his bearings. Once he was sure he could walk without collapsing, he made the trek out of his room and noted that the mess he had made from an earlier rage had been cleaned.

The hallway was abandoned, silent and dark, but that still told Marik nothing about the time of day. Everyone's sleep cycle changed at his father's whim. Only when he slept could anyone else do the same.

Not even sparing a glance towards the shrine, Marik limped down the opposite way, taking the path to the great well—the only part of the underground palace that the sun was visible through. The complex itself had been originally carved out by a long dead sub-terranean river, and the well had been built to tap into that water source, but was forgotten about after it ran dry. The tunnels were rediscovered by a second generation Ishtar after it was realized that the family had needed to go into hiding.

Each succeeding generation continued the construction, covering the walls with large stone bricks as well as lengthening and expanding the corridors. Rooms were also carved out, each one laced with powerful sealing magic to discourage intruders, enemies, and any other unlucky souls who were lost in the desert. The complex was now a veritable fortress, and its grounds had remained undisturbed for centuries.

However, the manor still had poor ventilation, and though the river was long dry, a thick moisture would sometimes seep through the walls and create a near unbearable humidity. It was through one such night that Marik travelled, the water sticking to his clothes in thick beads and making them feel heavy and uncomfortable. His breath was strained by the time he reached the well, but he forced himself to the far wall where he could finally kneel and ease the ache. Moonlight was streaming in through the well's opening, and Marik found an odd comfort in the fact that it was indeed nighttime. Settling himself back on his heels, Marik ran his fingers down the rough stone and searched for the faded heiroglyph of a man whose head was completely worn away. At his feet was a white hound, whose careful gaze kept true even after all these millennia. Along the hound's back, Marik's fingers settled into four shallow grooves and, gripping it, he pulled the stone out from the wall. He reached into the hole, and pulled out a water-damaged wooden box.

Marik had found the box during one of his explorations of one of the less developed areas of the complex, and though there was nothing special about the box itself, it was perfect for the job of holding the few treasures he had acquired on his short excursion aboveground. He crawled into the corner and leaned against the wall, stretching his legs out so he could rest the box on his thighs.

Pausing for another moment, Marik listened intently for any sign of others nearby. When he was sure of his safety, he quickly opened the box and pulled out a well-thumbed magazine with a picture of a motorcycle on the cover. For the first time in over two weeks, Marik smiled and began flipping through the pages, not caring if they were smudged or had rips in them. It was an american magazine that a tourist had thrown away, but Marik did not care that he could not understand the words.

Marik had fallen in love with motorcycles the moment he saw one: when Isis had led him on that forbidden trip above, and as dazzled as he had been by the expanse of sand and sky, he had become hypnotized by the lone traveller on his bike who allowed Marik only a fleeting glimpse before disappearing back into the night. For the rest of the day, while he and Isis explored the nearby village, he searched for any sign of the traveller and his bike, but he found none. He had just about given up hope when he saw a tourist throw a small stack of newspapers and magazines into a trash bin. While Isis admired some jewellry, Marik quickly dug out the magazine and hid it in the folds of his clothes. She had strictly told him not to bring anything back, but he could not resist.

No one knew of Marik's treasure box, which held not only the magazine, but a pocket-sized travel book on Cairo, an empty bottle of Coca-Cola, and some of the jewellry that Isis had liked so much. He had taken it while the merchant was busy, and was keeping it until Isis' next birthday, when he planned to give it to her as a present.

Marik continued flipping through his magazine, stopping on the images that he really liked. It was an old magazine, though, and he was sure that newer, better models had come out. He would love to have another issue, but he was banned from going above. Perhaps if he bribed one of the servants beforeone of their trips for provisions...

A muffled sound halted all of Marik's plotting and he froze, keeping as quiet as possible. There were definitely footsteps, and, as softly as the shadows, Marik hurried his treasures back into the box and stuffed it all back into the hole, resealing it with the white hound's stone.

There were voices then, and realizing that he had no time to escape, Marik quickly hid behind a larger boulder, squeezing himself into a narrow crevice and making sure no moonlight touched him.

"I have not sensed this," came the harsh voice of Marik's father, and Marik gave an involuntary shudder. Abdul-Qahhar was a powerful man, one whose very essence demanded respect. He had often made sure Marik and everyone else knew him as the ultimate law: the patriarch of the Ishtar family. He had no time for anything other than his duty, and he had no qualms about dragging his unwilling son down with him.

There was a moment of silence, and just when Marik began to panic over the thought that perhaps his father knew he was there, another voice interrupted, this one far richer and smoother.

"There's been no real change...I just mislike the feel of it."

It was Badr, Abdul-Qahhar's personal servant. Marik rarely saw Badr, but his presence followed Abdul's through the complex, and where there was Abdul-Qahhar, one could be sure that Badr was nearby, lurking unseen. "It's dark...full of hate," he continued.

Marik frowned, unsure of what they were talking about, but curious nonetheless.

"It's confined."

"I know....but I can't help but feel as though it's waiting....waiting for us to drop our guard."

"Nonsense. It's broken, and the seals are strong."

"Hmm..." Badr sounded unconvinced.

"I will go to the shrine tomorrow, and check it for myself, Badr."

A sigh of relief.

"Thank you, my lord. The Millennium Rod will surely bow to you."

Marik started. The Millennium Rod...he had only seen glimpses of it, and he was never allowed in the shrine itself. One of the Seven Items was causing worry to Badr? Surely it had not enough magic to break free of its bonds, and it knew who its keepers were.

He waited until Badr and his father were done taking the lunar measurements, for that was why they had come to the well to begin with, and once they had gone, Marik emerged from his hiding spot. The pain in his back was forgotten as he pondered over the new mystery. He hated the Rod...it was the reason he was doomed to a life of hiding and servitude, but now there was something wrong with it?

A soft whispering sound then seemed to leak through the walls, thoroughly startling Marik again. He made to hide, in case it was his father and Badr returning, but the whispering grew far more chaotic and maniacal..becoming the sound of a madman's laughter.

"Someone there?" Marik called out, no longer caring if someone found him. He could make an excuse.

The laughter seemed to split Marik's skull, and the air in his lungs turned thick and unbreathable. The pain in his back flared, and giving a small cry, Marik tore from the room, running back to his chamber and diving into his bed, leaving the laughing room far behind.

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To be continued.

The meanings of the names are thus:

Abdul-Qahhar: (arabic) "Servant of the subduer/almighty."

Badr: (arabic) "Full moon."

Marik: (arabic) "Master, Angel, King."


	2. Poco a Poco

**Aria of the Divine**

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! And all related characters therein do not belong to me. They belong to Kazuki Takahashi. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary:** From the moment of his birth, Marik Ishtar has been bound to fate. As he struggles to forge his own path...to regain a lost power...he becomes entangled in a war between gods, and the Millennium Rod may just have a plan of its own.

**Author's Note**: Okay, since Wednesday doesn't seem to be the best part of the week to update a story, Aria of the Divine will now be updated every other Friday. Also, I have been using the website "20,000 Names from Around the World" as my resource for finding names and their meanings. Now, to respond to reviews!!

**IcyPanther**: Yay! My first review for my first epic! Boy, you sure know how to put me on the spot with questions! I'm going to have to be very awake in the future so I don't give anything away! I don't want to say too much...not yet, anyway, but I will tell you that my interpretation of the Items is slightly different, so look for clues, especially in chapter three! And yeah, I call him Marik. I always just thought it sounded better...I'm not too fond of "Malik." But to each his own, right? Anyway, I'm glad you liked it, and thanks for reading!!

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Chapter Two "Poco a Poco"

_Poco a poco: a musical term meaning 'little by little'_

Marik slowly stirred his soup, occasionally blowing on it though it was already cold. He had rejected all offers of companionship earlier that morning, and because he did not want to take any of it back, he was forced to remain ignorant of all events outside of his room. And only until too late did Marik realize that after he had been brought his mid-day meal, Abdul-Qahhar locked the door himself.

Angrily pushing his bow aside, Marik buried his face in his arms. He was a Tomb Guardian—he should be in the shrine, helping to fix whatever was wrong with the Rod.

"It's not fair!" Marik cried viciously, his voice muffled by the desk. "He has no right—"

A loud crash outside his room startled Marik out of his thoughts and he quickly straightened, drying his tears with his sleeve. He jumped up and ran over to the door to press an ear against it.

"Are you all right, Odion?" Marik heard someone ask.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."

There were several shuffling noises before Marik felt something hit his foot. He looked down to see a key ring and he grinned.

"Thanks, Odion!" he exclaimed quietly and waited several moments before unlocking the door. Cracking it open, Marik checked to see if he was alone before creeping into the hall, taking great care to shut the door and tightly clasp the keys against his hand so they would not jangle together.

The sounds of murmuring filled the corridor, and, steeling his nerves, Marik softly made his way to the shrine. He stopped frequently, always listening for others and he dared to breathe only after he had tucked himself up against the space of wall in between the corner and open door of the shrine. Pausing for only a moment, Marik peeked around the door frame. The room was filled with torches, providing more light than was necessary. Marik could see some of his cousins and uncles scattered throughout the room, some deep in meditation, others talking quietly amongst themselves and casting suspicious glances towards the stone and glass case that held the Items. Badr was in the far corner of the room, close enough where he could keep a tight observation, but far enough so he would not be in the way. Odion was nearest the door, and Marik could swear that his servant had shifted just enough so that Marik could get a better view. There was no acknowledgement of his presence, though...that would be far too risky.

Abdul-Qahhar was in the center of the room, giving a calculating stare towards the Items. He was still for quite some time before he dropped down to his knees and bowed his head, eyes closing in meditation. He began chanting under his breath, and the talking in the room ceased as all attention was caught in the scene at hand. Marik watched in rapt fascination as the air around the case seemed to distort and waver, the magic making a slight humming sound as it was tested and retested. This continued for ten minutes before Abdul-Qahhar stopped the test and opened his eyes, tongue rolling around in his mouth as he thought the situation out.

"You feel it now, too?" Badr asked quietly.

Abdul-Qahhar did not answer. He merely stood up and took the few steps towards the case. There was nothing obviously wrong with the Rod, and its bonds were still strong, however there was a slight unease that touched Abdul-Qahhar. It was the same feeling that one gets if another has been staring at them for too long. The Rod _did_ seem to be waiting...but for what, Abdul-Qahhar could not tell.

Marik let his gaze fall to the Rod, trying to see what every one else seemed to be looking for. At first he saw nothing, but then the light began to distort, making the interior of the room contract while the walls bowed outwards. Marik continued to stare at the Rod as though hypnotized by it...it held his gaze by near physical force. The longer he looked at it, the more the changing light played against its surface, and it appeared that a red liquid was pouring from its engraved eye and flowing down the staff. It was too thin to be blood...

"Wine?" Marik breathed. "Why...why don't they see it? Can't anyone else...."

The pounding of blood in his ears drowned out all other sound, and he began to feel the familiar crawling sensation along his arms. Accompanying it was a strong burning palpation, and Marik began to sweat from it. He felt it flooding his body, and it built up into a climax of great pain—a twisting in his heart that made him feel as though he were being cleaved in two...and letting out a cry as he tore his eyes away, crouching back into his corner. He was doubled over, arms wrapped around his chest with his forehead tucked in between his knees. His heart was thudding painfully and he clenched his eyes tightly against it, not noticing the way his father sucked in his breath and narrowed his eyes.

There! There had been...a flicker...of...something...

Abdul-Qahhar took the few steps that separated himself and the Rod, and he reached out to grab it. Hissing, he jerked his hand back and cradled it with his other arm. One of the other family members stepped forward, his usually impassive face breaking into deep concern.

"Is it hot?" he questioned, retracting his hand when Abdul-Qahhar flinched away.

"No," came the response. Abdul-Qahhar winced, flexing his sore, burnt fingers. "Cold."

He turned his attention back to the Rod, which was lying in its case like nothing had happened.

"A reflex," one of the others spoke up after a long silence. "It's old magic...unstable."

"Breaking down?" Odion asked.

"A possibility," Abdul-Qahhar interrupted, giving a harsh glare to Marik's servant. "But whatever it was, it's done now." There was another stretch and curl of the fingers. "It's done now."

Marik waited until he felt somewhat normal again, before he unfurled himself and peeked back in the doorway. Everyone had gathered a bit closer, and no one was speaking, but other than that, nothing had changed. They were all basically were they were placed before....except...

'_Badr,'_ Marik thought. _'Where did he go?'_

Marik suddenly froze, his eyes widening in realization. Slowly he turned, stomach clenching when a long, dark gray robe came into view. He looked up to meet Badr's steel gray eyes, which betrayed no emotion. He had been discovered, and he would surely pay dearly for it.

"Badr..." there was only one thing that Marik could try. "I am a Tomb Guardian, as my father is. Do not betray me and this pledge I have taken. Please, do not tell."

Something akin to sympathy flashed in Badr's eyes before it quickly disappeared.

"I'm sorry, Master Marik. But I am under your father's jurisdiction only."

With a swish of his robes, Badr returned to the room, and Marik covered his face with his right hand so he would not have to see the way Badr could whisper his discovery into a most unsympathetic ear.

"But...I only wanted to see."

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Marik did not try to run. He did not bother to go back to his room and pretend that he had been there the whole time. It would have been useless, and he had learned that lying earned him a far worse punishment. He merely waited as the rest of the family filtered out of the room, none of them noticing that he was curled up in the shadowed corner, dreading what awaited him. All was silent for a long time, feeding Marik's anxiety, and he began to wonder if perhaps it would not be better to just leave...to go back into his room and stay out of his father's sight until his sin was forgotten...

"Marik!"

The booming voice echoed through the corridor, and Marik winced. Biting his lip, he slowly stood up and entered the room, making sure to keep his head down and hands at his side. Out of the corner of his eyes he could Badr against the wall, still as a statue. Odion was there was well, standing next to Badr, but he held none of his counterpart's professionalism—he was betrayed by nervous glances and the occasional wringing of his hands. Badr seemed to want to show exactly how a servant of the Ishtars should behave, so he remained quiet as ever, not acknowledging the younger man's presence even to scold.

Marik stopped just before his father, bending his spine slightly into a small, submissive bow. Abdul-Qahhar did not say anything for several minutes. Marik could feel his father's gaze piercing into his skull, and he tried to distract himself by thinking of his treasure box that was still safely hidden away in the well. This was one of Abdul-Qahhar's favorite tactics: to let the person sweat it out...their imagination did far worse things to them than he ever could, so Marik tried to mentally review the magazine, going picture by picture. He tried thinking of his daydreams of riding across the open desert...nothing but sand and sky as far as the eye could see...

"You directly disobeyed me."

Marik winced again.

"Yes," he answered. He offered no explanation nor excuse, for it would have been useless in everything except annoying his father more.

"How did you get out?"

Marik dug the keys out of his pocket and presented them to his father, still keeping his head down. Abdul-Qahhar quickly snatched them away and examined them.

"How did you get these?"

"I...I found them."

It was not a lie, but Abdul-Qahhar was not a man so easily put off.

"Who lost them?"

"I'm not sure.

Again, there was no lie—he never actually _saw_ Odion drop the keys. Abdul-Qahhar was silent for a long time before speaking again.

"Badr, hold him."

Badr quickly stepped behind Marik and took the young boy's arms to twist them behind Marik's back. Furrowing his brow, Marik tested Badr's grip, but he was held fast. Odion jerked forward, his protective instinct taking control for a moment before a harsh glare from Abdul-Qahhar froze him in his tracks. Odion gulped as he realized what was happening. Badr moved Marik backwards as Abdul-Qahhar unhooked his whip from his belt. Abdul-Qahhar was not a man who would physically harm his own son, but he was not above punishing a seditious servant.

Once Marik saw this, he struggled as fiercely as he could, but Badr was unmovable. Marik aimed his heel down on Badr's toes, but the man was too well trained to react with anything other than a slight wince. He tightened his grip, twisting Marik's skin to inflict just enough pain to get the boy to stop fighting. It worked, as Marik clenched his teeth and arched his next backwards to rest his head against Badr's chest.

"On your knees," Abdul-Qahhar commanded, and Odion dropped to the ground to crawl to the center of the room. It was humiliating, but he had gotten used to it. Once he was at Abdul-Qahhar's feet, he sat up, leaning back to rest on his heels. He stared at the floor, hands folded neatly in his lap. "Take off the robe."

Shrugging off the dark gray tunic, Odion let it bunch around his waist before he knotted it in place. This way, it would soak up the blood, and only a minimal amount would reach the floor. Abdul-Qahhar wasted no time and immediately lashed Odion, who hissed and fell forward to balance himself on his hands and knees. The whip whirred and fell upon him again, causing him to bite his lip to keep from crying out. The whip was Abdul-Qahhar's choice of weapon when it came to fighting, and he was skilled with it. Each stroke fell in a different place, not allowing his body to become numb to the pain.

Marik felt his eyes water as he watched his father flay Odion's body, the skin splitting into thick slices of red. A well aimed blow to the bicep made Odion crumble to the ground, and Marik stopped struggling so he could rather try to turn into Badr's arms and hide from the spectacle in front of him. Badr's grip did not lessen, but he did pull Marik more tightly against him into more of an embrace than a restraint.

Abdul-Qahhar stopped the whipping to reach down and tear a strip of bloodied cloth around Odion's hips. He quickly balled it up and stuffed it into Odion's mouth. Gagging at the taste for a moment, Odion bit down on it as hard as he could before the next stroke came. Abdul-Qahhar had created the gag for him just in time...the lash landed squarely over Odion's shoulder blades, forcing a scream of agony from the teenager. Marik was reminded of the way he was similarly muffled during the tattooing, and his back ached from the memory.

"Do you understand, Marik? This is your fault...you are not the only one who suffers your errors," Abdul-Qahhar said, striking Odion again. Marik knew that it was not just Odion that his father was talking about...he was also referring to the family in general, where so many things would be brought to ruin if Marik did not accept his place as a Tomb Guardian. All Ishtars would be wounded if Marik did not sacrifice himself entirely, and anything bad that happened would be his fault. All his fault.

_No. It would not be._

Marik looked up, startled as he heard the whispered words float through the room. Neither Badr nor Abdul-Qahhar seemed to have heard anything.

_Not your fault. Only his, that miserable fool. You are different._

'_Who...'_

_Let me go... let me out...I can help you. Free...me..._

'_Tell me who you are!'_

_I've waited for you...for so long..._

A sickening crunch of flesh shook the wisps of thought from Marik's head, and his attention was wrenched back down to the beaten body of Odion...his shout, gasping breaths the only indication that he was still alive. Marik tried to free himself so he could run to Odion's side, but a nod from Abdul-Qahhar was all that Badr needed to keep his hold on Marik and start dragging him back out the door and back to the boy's room.

"No! Odion!! Odion, answer me!" Marik shouted. "I hate you, father! I hate you!"

_Yes...anger...be angry..._

"You don't have to like me, Marik," Abdul-Qahhar said. "Only submit."

_No...never to him. Bow only to your anger...your hatred...let it burn inside of you..._

Abdul-Qahhar whirled on his heels as he felt the magic around the Rod flex and twist, and the room felt like it started to spin. He glanced back down at Odion and tried to confirm if it was the presence of blood that had started it. Old magic always seemed so drawn to blood...

"Lock Marik's door," Abdul-Qahhar said, tossing Badr the keys. Badr caught the ring with one hand and carried a struggling Marik out of the room.

Abdul-Qahhar bent down to grab Odion by the arm and dragged him out as well. He shoved the servant into the hall before slamming the door shut, sealing whatever malice had suddenly arisen inside. The blood presence was gone, and it would calm again. He swept through the corridors back to his own room, making sure to stop and tell another servant to go back and tend to Odion. The wounds were not to get infected, and he needed Odion back at work as soon as possible. He snuffed out the torches on either side of his door and quickly shut it...a clear signal to all that he should not be disturbed under any circumstances.

There were rarely any open doors in the Ishtar palace.

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Marik fought against the lock in his room, but it was no use. Badr had the keys, and there was no other way to leave. He slid to the floor, suddenly resenting all the light around him.

His fault...all his fault...

"Make it stop. Someone, make it stop...anyone..."

_Yes. I can help you._

The whispers were far weaker than before, and they sounded distracted, but a warmth crept up Marik's back and encircled him, as though someone were embracing him.

"S—stop," Marik breathed.

_I can make it stop. Do not worry. I will protect you. I will make it stop. It will all end. _

Marik turned then, but he saw nothing except shadows.

"Who are you?"

_I will help you._

"But—"

_Just not now. Sleep. I will be here when the time comes. _

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It was a long time before Marik fell asleep, but the shadows in the room were patient, and when his breathing slowed, they slithered up the bed and through his covers to wrap around his body.

_Pleasant dreams._

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Isis quietly thumbed through her book, more enjoying the sound of paper than actually reading. It had been a week since the incident with Marik, and she had heard no work of her brother's welfare. Not even the servant who brought Marik his meals could tell her anything, and she had not seen Odion either. Marik, under Abdul-Qahhar's order, was to stay under lock and key. His door was to be opened only for food, and his washbins were cleaned while he slept. If Marik continued to misbehave, it would be years before Isis ever saw him again, and she despaired at the thought.

Closing her book, Isis climbed off her bed and assumed her prayer position, knowing that the meditation would soothe her mind. While she did not possess the outright magical strength like that of the males in the family, she knew the value of extended cogitation. In rare moments, Isis could pick up impressions in the walls...they would speak to her in mere wisps of ideas, but she always listened. Walls could tell her more than any person could, and they knew more, as well. They knew what was contained in the shrine, and they knew its chains were rusting through. They knew the danger, and she always listened.

A gently tapping at her door drew Isis out of her reflections. Frowning, she stood up and straightened out her clothing.

"Come in," she called.

The door was gently pushed in, but the visitor did not enter.

"Odion!?" Isis gasped and she rushed to the doorway. "Odion, is everything all right? What about Marik? I haven't heard anything—"

"I'm here to bring you to him."

Isis froze in her tracks, almost not believing what Odion had said. At her stunned silence, Odion continued.

"We must be swift, my lady. And quiet. I have managed to get a key for master Marik's room. We don't have much time, so if you wish to go..."

"Yes, of course! We'll go now!" Isis exclaimed, tucking her long strand of black hair behind her ear.

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Isis followed Odion through the maze of corridors, her heart clenching every time he stopped to listen and avoid any notice. She was confused, however, as to why Odion was taking such risks for her and Marik. He had been severely punished before for other, lesser infractions. If he was caught for this, he would be disgraced, perhaps even killed. No one was ever exiled from the Ishtar family...there were too many secrets that could be leaked...told to the wrong people. The options were loyalty, or death. In some cases, perhaps like Odion's, the two were intertwined.

After several minutes, Odion and Isis finally stopped outside Marik's room, and Isis could not hold back a grin of excitement. It had been far too long since she'd seen her brother, and she very much wanted to talk to him. Once the door was unlocked, Isis immediately went in, but her greeting died on her lips.

Marik was sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing the far wall and making abstract shadow puppets. Next to his hip was a chipped clay bowl, its insides smeared with a tick red paste. It was an amateur's attempt at paint, and Isis could see why her brother seemed unusually thin. Scattered around the room were eggshells, almost empty bottles of spices, and a few dried rose petals. Marik had barely been eating...all of his food had gone into his paint, which oddly smelled of nothing stronger than curry. Isis could see markings on the wall that Marik had made with his paint...a series of lines and curves all connecting in a random pattern.

"Marik," Isis called softly, not wanting to startle her brother too terribly. There was no response as Marik continued to twist his hands and flex his fingers in a pale imitation of the graceful lines on the walls. "Marik," Isis tried again, her voice raising slightly. When she was once more ignored, she stepped in front of one of the lamps. Marik frowned and twisted to look over his shoulder, the look of confusion switching to disbelief.

"I—Isis? Isis!" Marik jumped up and ran to his sister, nearly knocking her over in the process. "Father said I'd never get to see you again!"

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Odion exhaled softly in relief, his lips quirking into a small smile before he walked away from Marik's room. He would give them some time to themselves by making a loop through the hallways. It would only be for a little while, but Odion felt that it would greatly soften Marik's confinement.

As he walked, Odion noticed that the corridors were very quiet, and he felt the suspicion rise within him. When the next hall he turned into was dead silent, Odion sucked a breath in through his teeth and dashed back to Marik's room. When he arrived, he skidded to a halt and felt his heart skip a beat. Badr was standing placidly in the middle of the hall, facing the closed door.

"Badr, "Odion said, fear giving way to anger. "Let them have this. You surely can't think that Abdul-Qahhar is correct in keeping them apart!"

"I do as my master wishes," Badr replied obediently. "As I always have, and will. Come with me. Now."

Odion clenched his eyes shut as his hands curled into fists. He had been caught, and he had to suffer the consequences. He was not afraid of death, and he was proud to have been able to make Marik happy, but he worried about what would happen to his charge when he would not be there to protect and guard him.

"Odion! _Now._"

Taking a deep breath, Odion followed Badr back to the shrine. As they stopped outside the entrance, Badr held Odion back for a moment.

"You will not survive this."

Odion was quiet.

"Why did you do it?"

"I do...as my master wishes. As I always have, and always will," Odion replied, shaking Badr's hand from his arm and striding into the shrine, where Abdul-Qahhar waited with a whip and a death. Odion did not bow his head this time, and he kept his posture proud. Abdul-Qahhar made no mention of this, but rather he played with the leather in his hands.

"The Millennium Items are old gods," he said. "They like blood...they like seeing it spilled and staining the earth. For such a long time they've been forgotten by the rest of the world...perhaps they would like another sacrifice?"

The Millennium Rod flashed with a secret, inner light, the magic barriers around it suddenly flexing and groaning under the strain. Odion closed his eyes against the blinding light, but it disappeared quickly, and Odion shook it off.

Marik froze. He raised his head from his sister's should to see the shadows on the wall jump, writhing far more violently than the candlelight should have allowed.

"What's happening?" he asked.

Isis had her eyes closed, but they quivered as though she were dreaming. Within seconds, however, she gasped and her eyes shot open once more.

"Odion," she answered. "Father means to kill him!"

"We have to help him!" Marik exclaimed, tearing himself from his sister's arms and running to the shrine.

"Marik! Wait for me!"

Isis chased Marik to the shrine, skidding to a halt as Marik abruptly stopped in the doorway. He was standing very still, his expression of stunned horror melting into impassiveness. His violet eyes blinked slowly up at his father, all light fading from them.

"No," he whispered.

Abdul-Qahhar remained unaware of his son's and daughter's presence, and he continued to administer his punishment to the dying servant.

"No," Marik said again, and stepped into the shrine. Isis reached out to pull him back, but he was quickly out of range and she dare not to follow him in. Isis watched, petrified, as Marik calmly walked past his father and stood before the display. Abdul-Qahhar still did not see him, as the shadows hid him well.

"No," Marik said once more, and he put a hand through the glass to wrap his fingers around the glowing, golden Millennium Rod.

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To be continued.

And because I forgot to do it in the last chapter, the meaning of the name Odion is this:

Odion: (egyptian) "Born of Twins"


	3. Galop of the First Hegira

**Aria of the Divine**

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! And all related characters therein do not belong to me. They belong to Kazuki Takahashi. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary:** From the moment of birth, Marik Ishtar has been bound to fate. As he struggles to forge his own path...to regain a lost power...he becomes entangled in a war between gods, and the Millennium Rod may just have a plan of its own.

**Author's Note: **I don't really have anything to say here, so I'll go ahead and just respond to my review!

**IcyPanther: **If I haven't said it already, thanks for reviewing! It's really appreciated, believe me. And yeah. I call him Odion. I'm not entirely sure why, though the meaning of his name can make your brain whirl if you think about it...and there are story possibilities in it, I'm sure. I hope my plots keep you interested, and now, I think, I may have to throw some extra twists in there! I'm really glad you like my story, and it was good to hear from you!

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Chapter Three "Galop of the First Hegira"

_Galop: a quick dance in duple metre_

_Hegira: a flight to escape danger_

At first, nothing happened. But then, as the seconds melted into each other, Marik fought a grimace as his blood turned to serpents...twisting and slithering underneath his skin and constricting around his heart. His head began to pound and he saw the light splitting behind his eyes. Dark tendrils of magic laced their way up his arms and down his body, his whole frame quivering from the onslaught. His blond hair doubled in volume, and it fell heavily across his shaded eyes. Power surged through him, and he grinned maliciously as he noted the raised ring at the base of the rounded head of the Rod.

Abdul-Qahhar immediately ceased the beating, and he pivoted on his toes to see Marik standing quite composedly before the display case, the magic shields whining under the strain before cracking and falling into pieces. The magic had changed from sleepy subservience to a wakened monster. It was out, and it was growing..._feeding_ from all the energy around it. It was free, and Abdul-Qahhar was filled with dread.

"A _sacrifice_," Marik said, his voice projecting with a double echo. "Will not be necessary."

Here, Marik turned, and Isis raised a hand to her mouth in astonishment. Marik had changed, and his amused sneer held no warmth. Marik raised his arm and the Rod released a burst of energy, throwing Abdul-Qahhar to the wall and pinning him there. Marik glided up to his father, unscrewing the bottom half of the staff to remove the pointed blade from its sheath. Abdul-Qahhar struggled against the bonds, but the magic held him fast.

"A blood offering, however, may be well appreciated," Marik continued and lifted the Rod above his head before plunging it deep into his father's heart.

Abdul-Qahhar groaned at the impact, his tongue catching in his throat to turn it into more of a choked gurgle, and he looked down at his son. At the sight of Marik's blank eyes, he gave a superior smirk.

"I wonder...just...what do you think...you'll be able to do next," he said, swallowing the blood that was rising in his throat. Marik pulled the Rod out and smiled back.

"I'll think of something," he replied and once again drove the Rod downwards, making sure to twist and twirl the staff to do as much damage as possible. Abdul-Qahhar gave one last, deep shuddering breath, and then as the magic bonds disappeared, he collapsed to the ground. A trail of blood against the wall marked his last stand, and his eyes were glossed over.

The Rod slipped from Marik's fingers, the metal ringing loudly as it collided with the stone floor. Lines of blood streaked its otherwise pristine surface, but it did not stain. It merely slid off like drops of water, pooling beneath the Rod. Marik slowly turned away from the body of his father, musing over his crimson colored hands and stained sleeves. Isis was staring at him in disbelief, her hands unconsciously clasped in prayer. Odion was the first to recover, and he struggled to climb to his knees.

"Marik," he rasped, stretching out his arms. "Marik."

Marik lifted his head back up to look at Odion, his orchid eyes glistening. He was back to normal, and the shadows were quiet once more. On the corner of his vision, he could see great webs of cracks in the stone walls, giving silent testimony to the magic that had been released. All protection spells in the room were in tatters, some of them with visible shards that glinted like black glass in the torch light.

"What...have I..." Marik shook his head before running into Odion's outstretched arms, clutching at the tattered gray robe as tightly as he could. "What have I done?" he whispered. "What have I done?"

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Badr moved as silently as a ghost through the hallways, his head down in contemplation. The bones of his hands were itching, and he frowned at the sensation. He was not like the Ishtars. He could not use magic, but like any man, he could sense it when it was strong enough, and this evening he knew that something was terribly off. Something was not _right_, and he rubbed the back of his hands in an uncharacteristic display of anxiety.

And now that he looked, he could see the signs everywhere. Shadows that did not match the patterns of light, and the stone shivered almost imperceptibly under his feet, as though it were unsure of its foundations. A faint strumming leaked through the walls, the sound of ancient spells yawning with age.

Steeling his self control once more, Badr continued his trek to Marik's room. Abdul-Qahhar had wanted Marik present for Odion's death, and as always, Badr did not question his master's motives. He served, and obeyed.

Badr was startled out of his musings as another, lesser servant called out to him from one of the rooms he passed.

"Badr! Sorry to bother you, sir, but I was asked of the kitchen to inquire as to master Marik's breakfast meal tomorrow. When is he to receive it and where? Will he be dining with Lord Abdul-Qahhar?"

"It will be as always," Badr responded, frowning. "In his room with eggs and bread and water."

The servant looked confused.

"But...I thought...with Lord Abdul-Qahhar's order that Marik's punishment be ceased..."

"My master gave no such order," Badr interrupted, his storm gray eyes glinting as his hair, only a few shades darker than his eyes, fell across his face. "Who did you hear that from?"

"Well...master Marik's door was open...he's gone. We'd all just assumed—"

The servant was cut off again as Badr raced towards Marik's room. He knew that Isis was visiting her brother, but he had expected them to stay there. Isis had enough common sense to slip in and out unnoticed, and she would have convinced Marik to remain silent about their rendezvous. It did not make any sense for them to just...leave...

Badr stopped in front of Marik's open door, his eyes wide with shock at seeing the empty room. He would have to find them fast, before any harm was done, and Abdul-Qahhar realized that Badr had failed him in this task—

Gasping, Badr's posture went rigid as he felt a wave of residue magic crash through the hallways, causing the walls to sway under its touch. Several containment spells roared to life, reinforcing the stone and blunting the raw magic's touch.

"The Rod," Badr said, turning his head back the way he had come and paused for only a moment before taking off in a run. He had to get there first, for he knew that the other Ishtars and even the servants would have noticed that, and it would only be moments before everyone would gather at the shrine. He would have only those precious moments to learn what happened, and he should do next.

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Dead. Their father was dead.

Isis wanted to comfort her brother. She wanted to hold him and rock him as she had done for the past eleven years, but she remained rooted to her spot. She had not known her father well...she rarely spoke to him and when she did, it was only a few short sentences...answers to inquiries about her prayers and health. She had no delusions about her father being a kind or loving man, but he was still her father, and she loved him.

And Marik killed him.

It was a horrendous crime no matter the situation, but it was unforgivable in the Ishtar clan, and Marik would suffer dearly for it.

"Marik," Isis said, her voice shaking with fear for her brother's safety. "You're going to be in a lot of trouble."

Marik looked up at her, clutching Odion's robes even tighter than before. Odion's expression was also tumultuous, torn between the pain of his beating and the prospect of Marik's own death sentence. He came to a decision almost instantaneously.

"We have to get you out of here," he said, moving Marik out to arm's length. "You have to run."

"What? L—leave?"

"Where would he go?" Isis questioned.

"Anywhere...somewhere far away. We just have to get you of here."

Odion climbed to his feet with a grimace, and he straightened himself despite the sudden dizziness that overcame him. "We have to run _now._"

"But—"

"Marik!"

It was the first time Odion had spoken to his master without any formal address, and it worked well for stunning Marik into listening. "I refuse to let you die," he continued, his tone much softer. "I know you don't want to go, but...after what's happened here..."

Marik looked to his sister, but she offered no help. She looked as lost and confused as he was.

_Yes. Run._

The whispers came back for the first time in over a week, but they had changed. Now they were stronger, speaking more as one voice than many, and they were extremely anxious.

_Run...danger...run...run NOW!_

Marik scrambled to his feet and ran out of the shrine, stopping only to grab the Rod and replace the sheath. Odion was soon to follow, leaving Isis behind.

"Wait! Marik, you can't! You have to tell!" she shouted after them. When she was ignored, she made to follow them when a weak light stopped her. The Millennium Tauk was glowing faintly in its case, and she paused only a second before going to it and reaching down to grab it. As her fingers brushed along its golden surface, she gasped with the sudden onslaught of images and sounds that raced through her mind. All of her blood seemed to stop flowing for a moment as her vision clouded with the perception of events yet to come.

Isis clenched her teeth as her fingers tightened around the Tauk.

"What...why...is this the future?"

The walls were speaking to her again, though their voices were stronger, more urgent. Time compressed into one moment, past and future melding into one feeling of the _present._ Isis dropped to her knees from the overwhelming sense of vertigo, losing all sense of direction and feeling in her body. There was darkness everywhere in the vision...even the shadows shied away from it....it was choking her, drowning her, piercing her with its bottomless well of hatred and vengeance. She could see Marik bound to the darkness as it tore into him, ripping his flesh and tearing at his heart. There was so much anger and despair...an utter anguish that Isis felt that she would never be happy again, and she screamed against it.

_Behold the destruction of the Ishtar clan._

"Stop showing me this!!!"

Immediately the vision ceased and Isis collapsed forward onto her hands and knees, her shoulders heaving as she gasped for air. Beads of sweat dotted her face, and her heart was pounding painfully. Her left hand was resting on top of the Tauk as she dug her nails into the floor.

"Please don't let it be true," she breathed. "Don't leave me, Marik."

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There were plenty of places to hide in the manor. It was easy enough to disappear—a fact that Marik had come to appreciate over a series of hide-and-seek games with Isis. He had long since memorized the seemingly endless amount of rooms, turn arounds, and hollows, and it was to his favorite hiding place that he ran.

Extending from the Millennium shrine was a sweeping, curving hallway, its walls lined with imposing statues of priests and magicians—torches placed in the spaces between them. Marik had always found them disconcerting, but as he fled, their lifeless eyes seemed to follow him accusingly. It made him falter, but a deep vibration from the Rod brought him back to his senses, and he managed to make it to the end of the corridor and into a large rectangular room. Several other hallways branched off from this room, but Marik knew that the rest of the family would be arriving at the shrine soon, and he could not leave this room without being intercepted within the next few minutes. Instead, Marik rushed to the nearby corner and brushed away some sand and dust that was covering a small metal loop—the ring that was once attached having long since disappeared. He pulled up on it, the wood of the trapdoor creaking slightly from age and three months of disuse.

Built in the ancient times when the manor still had the chance of being raided, the space beneath could comfortably fit four people, though it was musty, dank, and pitch black. Marik had to place part of his robe over his face until his nose adjusted before he collapsed to his knees, sitting back on his heels and doubling over to hug the Rod tightly against his chest. Silent, dry sobs wracked his frame, and he started quite badly when another form opened the door and dropped down to the floor.

"Stay away from me!" he shouted. "Leave me alone!"

"Lord Marik! It's me," came the response, and two strong arms reached out to subdue the flailing child.

"Odion!" Marik exclaimed and quickly a hand was placed over his mouth.

"Hush. They'll be passing through, soon. Then we'll need to get you out of here. You're going to have to run away."

"But where—"

"Shh!"

Odion covered Marik's mouth again, clamping down tighter than was necessary as numerous pairs of feet entered the room, accompanied by bewildered and somewhat frantic voices.

When everything was quite again, Odion stood on the tips of his toes and pushed the trapdoor up to peek through the crack.

"They're gone. But they'll be back soon...he have to hurry," he said and pushed the door all the way up so it flipped back over its hinges. Marik immediately pushed a large box he had dropped in there from one of his previous games and climbed on top of it. With an extra step up from Odion, he was quickly out. Odion soon followed and promptly grabbed Marik's hand to head out the opposite doorway. He was limping badly, but even then Marik had to jog to keep up, and the two began their escape from the Ishtar manor.

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Badr was the first to reach the Millennium shrine, and he burst into the room to see Isis standing very still off to his right, her back to him and facing the wall.

"—going away," Badr heard her murmur. "Not coming back..."

The light was very dim, but Badr could see the tattered remains of the restraining spells, and the shards of glass that were littered around the stone case.

"Isis," Badr addressed, turning back to her. "Child, what has happened? Where is your father?"

"Gone," she answered, her voice filled with mist and haze.

"Gone? Where to?"

"Gone. They weren't enough, you see...the spells. They never were."

"What happened to the spells?" Badr asked, his suspicion rising as he approached the girl.

"It thought they were funny."

Here, Isis turned, and Badr's eyes widened as he saw a large smear of blood on her front. Her hands were covered in it, and his gaze dropped down to the floor, where a body was crumpled at her feet. Gray hair was poking out through the hood, and violet eyes were wide in glazed contempt.

"Master..." Badr breathed, and he rushed to the fallen patriarch's side, no longer noticing Isis or the other family members that were arriving. His breath catching in his throat, Badr carefully turned Abdul-Qahhar's head towards him and placed two fingers underneath the jaw. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of the man's mouth, and after the absence of a heartbeat, Badr moved his hand downwards, to touch the blossom of blood on his master's robes. Swallowing deeply, he looked back up at Isis.

"Who did this?" he whispered.

"Marik," she answered, her voice and expression still dazed. "He killed him."

"With what?"

"The Rod."

"Marik has the Millennium Rod?"

When Isis nodded, Badr stood and turned to address the family members that had gathered...all of them standing in shock and confusion.

"Marik has stolen the Millennium Rod. The entire compound must be searched."

There was an immediate upheaval, a chorus of voices springing up.

"The Rod!?"

"It can't be!"

"—he can't go far..."

"It has to be brought back! Who knows what it is capable of!"

Badr ignored them and began to run through his own options.

"That bastard orphan Odion is probably with him...Isis! Do you know where Marik is now?" he questioned harshly.

"He's running."

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Never before had Odion so regretted the magnitude of the manor. Normally he enjoyed the curving, sweeping hallways and the pools of light and shadows that always formed in the corners, but now they were nothing more than a hindrance...and it was only a matter of seconds before the rest of the inhabitants would start hunting them down. They were fortunate enough to have a head start, but only if Odion led his charge right could they survive. Marik followed him easily until they passed the well...then he quickly broke free of Odion's grip and went inside.

"Marik! We don't have the time!"

"I have to get something!"

Marik dashed to the opposite wall, falling to his knees in front of the picture of the man and his white dog. Pulling out the stone and opening the box, Marik tucked his book into the inside pocket of his robe and grabbed the golden jewelry with his free hand. Though he was loathe to leave his magazine and other trinkets behind, he knew he could not carry it all and quickly replaced them and the stone. He ran back out of the well and past Odion, and headed towards a statue a few yards down. It had a large, heavy base, but that did not deter Marik as he crouched down and pulled at a small niche near the floor.

"Marik! What are you doing? We have to leave NOW!"

"Just a minute!" Marik shouted back and gave one strong heave. A perfect square of stone gave way...sliding sideways into the rest of the hollow base. It was Isis' favorite hiding spot in their games—she could crawl in and then pull the stone across, leaving a small crack through which she could breathe. It had taken Marik forever to discover it...he had found it only when he had heard her cough.

It was in this spot that Marik dropped the jewelry, making sure it was far enough back to escape unintentional discovery, and then pulled the stone back across.

"Marik, let's go!" Odion exclaimed and pulled the boy to his feet.

"I'm sorry, Odion. I just...had to give my sister her birthday present."

Odion's expression softened for a moment before he shook his head.

"Come on," he said and pulled Marik after him again.

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It was with some relief that Odion ran through the expansive dining hall—they were one room from Marik's only exit. Halfway down the table, though, Odion grounded to a halt and pulled Marik in front of him, gripping the younger boy's arms tightly.

"Marik, listen to me. You know the way to the nearest village, right?"

"Yes...it's a few miles north of here, but I can walk it easily enough."

"No, you don't understand. Whatever you do, you must not go to that village. They'll search for you there...you won't be safe. No, you must go east, into the rising sun. Go far enough, and you should reach Suez. It's a long walk, though...there ought to be roads nearby, anyway. But you must remember to stay as low as you can. They're going to be looking for you, Marik."

"What's in Suez?"

"A way out—"

There was a sudden shaking in the ground, and a deep rumble like thunder echoed in the walls—the distinct sound of ancient spells suddenly forced into their paces after millennia of slumber.

"You must go now!" Odion exclaimed and then tore away from Marik to head back into the complex.

"Odion? Aren't you coming with me!?"

Odion slid to a halt and turned his head to look back at his charge.

"No."

"But...why!? You have to come with me!"

"It'll be too easy to track two of us, and with these injuries, I'll just slow you down. You run, Marik, and I'll lead them away from you."

"How—"

"Go NOW!"

Marik spun on his heels and sprinted out of the dining room and into the Main Hall, spurred on by the weeping walls.

"Goodbye, Marik," Odion whispered and ran back the way he came.

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The Main Hall, at eighty feet long and thirty feet high, was the largest room in the complex. It was bright and grand...waiting to impress visitors that would never come.

The doors that Marik entered through opened up onto a large, rounded pulpit, with two staircases curving out and down in a horseshoe shape. The Ishtar family crest decorated the pulpit, and as usual, Marik paused as he examined the design. A stylized version of the Ishid Tree encompassed the platform, its branches curling and stretching while a cobra was wrapped around its trunk. Two arms spread out at the tree's base, their fists raised as seven scorpions filled the air around them. The image gave Marik a chill, but he shook it off and bounded down the left staircase.

His footsteps were muffled by a long red carpet as he made his way to the main entrance, but they sounded clamorous to Marik's ear, and he hastened his way past the hanging pans of fire and out of the Main Hall. He could feel the magic searching for him...it scratched at the back of his neck and palms of his hands, and he knew it was only a matter of time

After exiting the Main Hall, Marik made it into the much smaller corridor that led to the exit. It was cramped and steep, but Marik clambered through it until he reached the simple wooden slab—so similar to his own trapdoor—and he once again stopped in his tracks. The hinges and catches were easy to undo, but when he moved to push it open, the door held fast.

'_I'm caught,'_ Marik though._ 'I wasn't fast enough...I can't get out...I can't GET OUT!'_

_Quiet. Relax. This is nothing._

'_But the spells...they're coming...I don't know how to break it—' _

_I do. But you must relax. Clear your mind, and let me work through you..._

Marik was filled with anxiety, but he fought to do as he was told. He closed his eyes and worked to slow his breath, willing his pounding heart to calm. As he did so, he started to feel a warmth building in his right hand. The Rod had not changed temperature, but rather, the heat was in his own blood, and it was filling him...it was dark and dreamy and heavy, but a welcome weight...comforting...

'_Your power,'_ Marik acknowledged.

_No. Your power. It's all yours...but let it flow. Give it to me, and I will do as you bid...It will do as you wish._

Marik slowly opened his eyes again, making sure to keep his concentration on the flowing warmth within his arm, and he raised the Rod up.

"Open," he commanded, and the door flew up and back over its hinges, the wood splintering slightly at the latches.

Rich light flooded the tiny passage, its orange and yellow hues momentarily dazzling Marik, and he closed his eyes against it. It was too bright, and he almost stumbled back before there was another furious rumbling in the complex, and he swung his arms forward and climbed out onto the still burning sand.

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To be continued.


	4. The Sanctuary's Berceuse

**Aria of the Divine**

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! And all related characters therein do not belong to me. They belong to Kazuki Takahashi. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary: **From birth, Marik Ishtar has been bound to fate. As he struggles to forge his own path...to regain a lost power...he becomes entangled in a war between gods, and the Millennium Rod may just have a plan of its own.

**Author's Note:** Well, not too much to say here. Sorry this chapter's a bit late...I have been house-sitting for some friends, and I didn't get to updating yesterday. I'm working on chapter five, but I am entirely positive it will be out when I planned for it to be. However, it WILL come. I absolutely refuse to abandon this story. My plans are too big to just give it up. Anyway, I hope you enjoy chapter four, and here is the response to my review!

**IcyPanther: **Lol. Yeah, school can be a pain. It just gets in the way of everything! I don't mind if you call him Malik. To each her own! As for Yami Marik...well...you'll just have to wait and see! Isis probably will be out of it for a while...I don't really mind. She's hard enough to write as it is! I'm just happy that the focus is going back to Marik. I don't know as I'll put Ryou in...I don't think he ever went to Egypt with his father, because he had to wait for his father to send the Ring to him. Good idea, though. I didn't get to see the english version of Seto getting his dragon, but I did watch the Japanese version. Seto is awesome no matter what! I want to give him a hug.

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Chapter Four "The Sanctuary's Berceuse"

_Berceuse: a lullaby in lilting triple or compound time_

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Isis sat in the middle of the Main Hall, her legs crossed and hands folded neatly in her lap. From here, she could watch as the other family members rushed about, trying to figure out what to do, where to look, and creating an interim pundit. Badr had been the one closest to Abdul-Qahhar, so he was the one that ended up giving the orders—logical, simple ones so that not everything would fall into utter chaos.

'_It's too late,'_ Isis thought. _'He's already gone.'_

The walls and floor of the Main Hall—of the entire complex—were spidered with giant cracks and sink holes that signified the Rod's departure. The spells that had kept the manor strong and alive had been completely decimated, with any remaining magic weak and fading fast. Isis watched her cousins, aunts and uncles, hasten about as they tried to repair the damage, but the Rod had torn away from its cage, and it took special time to make sure those very bars were incinerated in the process. After nearly three thousand years, the final death strike had been delivered to their sanctuary. It had happened all in a moment...with the same ease as to rip a piece of paper, or cut the ribbon on a balloon...and they only had two years left.

Isis did not question _how_ she knew, or even the fact that she should know at all, but she knew that it would only be two years before erosion and the weighty desert above would force the ceilings to collapse and finish the manor forever. The tunnels simply were not strong enough, and without the magic to support them...the land was tired, and the Rod's rebellion was enough so not even a grain of sand could retain the simplest spell...there was not the energy for it. It had become a dead land.

Two years.

But until then, something had to be done.

'_I have foreseen this.'_

Standing slowly, Isis dusted off her dress and circled back up the stairs onto the platform, her ascent unnoticed by those around her. She straightened, ignoring the small darts of pain in her feet by the cracks and pebbles on the floor, and walked to the banister to rest her hands on the splintered stone. Badr was standing near her, as haggard and lost as any had ever seen him. Isis stood a moment, looking over the hall before speaking.

"Badr."

"Yes?"

"Call them back. All of them. Even those searching for my brother."

Badr turned, giving the First Daughter a questioning stare.

"May I ask why?"

The light hardened in Isis' eyes, and her grip tightened on the rail.

"I have something important to say."

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Marik's lungs burned as he sprinted across the sand, the earth pulling at his ankles. It was hot and he was tired, but the setting sun was behind him, and he could see clearly. He was only a mile and a half into his flight before he saw the dark shapes of the ancient ruins—the remains of the village that had first built the well. Consisting of only a few large blocks of stone, the ruins were small enough to not attract the attention of nosey historians, but were large enough to provide adequate hiding spaces.

With a quick check over his shoulder, Marik crouched down amongst the weather-worn slabs and paused to catch his breath. He did not know how long it would take before his family came this way searching for him, but he hoped the evening winds would erase his tracks. Rubbing the sand away from his eyes, Marik scanned the area for a place to hide until nightfall. He was young, but he was also an Ishtar, and he was proficient in the art of knowing how and when to disappear.

Most of the stones rested at simple angles: either completely horizontal or vertical, providing shade at best, but after a few long minutes, Marik found that one stone had fallen and landed in a shallow lean against another. It was the perfect crawl space, but experience had taught Marik not to delve into a dark hollow, and he quickly pulled out the Rod to extend it in first. A guttural hiss welcomed the Rod's presence, and Marik pulled quickly back. He could see, just outside the reach of the sunlight, a lithe, pale, buff-colored mass curling angrily around itself. Marik involuntarily gulped, and tightened his grip on the Rod. He had had an encounter with this species of snake once before...and it had nearly cost him his life.

Unconciously rubbing the twin scars on his shin, Marik summoned his courage and creeped forward again. The hissing started once more, soon joined by the alarming sound of keeled scales being rubbed together. Knowing that he needed the spot for himself, Marik thrust the Rod back inside, hooked the snake around the flares, and pulled it out. The Horned Desert Viper reared the upper quarter of its body up as he did so and struck out with lightening quickness. Marik dropped the Rod and let it fall to the sand, the viper still coiling around it.

After a few moments of frantic searching, Marik ripped the hood from his robes and stretched his arm out to the side to shake the thick cloth. The snake reacted instantly, jerking its head over to fix its stare on the hood, its tongue flickering wildly in and out. With the viper distracted, Marik reached down and grabbed it by the tail, pulling it vertical and untangling it from the Rod. He dropped the cloth and took up the Item, making sure to keep the viper well away from his body. Marik thumbed at the Rod's sheath, loosening it so it fell away and revealed the dagger within. Kicking the hollow piece of metal to the side, Marik carefully lowered the snake and positioned it on the ground, distracting it for a moment with his foot so he could fall down on it and send the Rod through the top of the viper's head.

With a deep sigh of relief, Marik gathered up the sheath and sat back on his heels. A wet heat pricked at the back of his eyes, but he choked it back and dragged himself forward into the crawl space. Wiping the blade off on his robes, Marik resheathed the Rod and collapsed onto his side to clutch the Item to his chest. It was cool and soft in the shade, and Marik did his best to try and fall asleep. He would remain in that spot until nightfall, when he would make his final run for Suez.

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The Main Hall was now filled with people, all unusually quiet and casting suspicious glances up at Isis. A few had tried to question her, but she ignored all inquiries until Badr announced to her that everyone was present.

"My name is Isis Ishtar," she began, her soft voice filling the cavernous room. "And I am herefore claiming the right to be the formal Heir."

The atmosphere in the room changed instantly from a questioning peace to a deep anxiety.

"There has never been a female Heir before..." one of Isis' uncles, Chisisi, said ponderously. Chisisi was one of the older members of the family, his silver hair accounting for that fact. He was standing atop the dais, very near the doorway, and giving Isis' back a calculating stare. Isis did not seem to hear him, and she continued.

"My father, Abdul-Qahhar, is dead, and my brother has abandoned us. I am the next."

"Isis, are you sure this is the right time for this?" Badr whispered into her ear.

"This is the perfect time," she replied, never once looking at him. "And if any of you doubt me..."

Isis paused and reached into her pocket to pull out the Millennium Tauk. There were several unrestrained gasps, accompanied by no small number of curses.

"My brother may have the Rod, but I have the Tauk. Only an Ishtar Heir may claim this, and if any of you wish to challenge my blood..." Isis wrapped the Tauk around her neck and clasped it, turning a challenging glower on those gathered in the room. "Take it from me!"

At first, no one moved....they were too stunned. But this was no sign of victory.

"He who can take the Tauk from me I will bow to as the new Heir. If no one succeeds, I claim the right."

A flew long minutes passed before one of Isis' half-blooded cousins stepped hesitantly forward. He began to sweat as he climbed the stairs, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. Isis watched him calmly, making no movement until he stood directly in front of her and reached out to take the Tauk. Isis' hand shot up, tightly grasping his wrist.

"Yafeu," she addressed, her voice no louder than a whisper. "Time is a fickle thing, wouldn't you agree? It's constantly flowing past us and yet we're all stuck in this one moment of 'present.' I wonder what would happen...if there was no such thing as the passing of time. It everything was..._now_." Isis dropped Yafeu's wrist, and he reflexively went forward, his fingers halting against the Tauk. The beads of sweat on his forehead almost tripled in volume, and his breathing became heavier and more frantic with each moment. Tremors ran through his muscles even as his spine went rigid, and his teeth began to chatter under a stiff jaw.

With a shriek of pain, Yafeu pulled violently away, falling backwards and collapsing against the banister. No one moved to help him.

An eternity passed before another stepped forward: Chatha, a cousing of Isis' long dead mother. Like Yafeu, Chatha ascended the stairs and took his stance in front of Isis. And like Yafeu, his hand was stopped before he could touch the Tauk.

"Memories are a very important part of who we are," Isis said. "They are our link to the past, and are really our only record of it. Without them, the past is erased. With no past there is no present and with no present there is no future. And it is strange that such an important thing can be changed...altered to block what we do not wish to see. But at the same time, they can never truly be purged. Like a scorned lover they return with a vengeance, just when you least expect or least need them. Those painful memories trap you, and you are bound by the one thing you can never escape: your own past!"

Isis let Chatha grab the Tauk, but he could not pull away with it. Rather, his eyes grew wide and he began to shake wildly...as though he was having a waking nightmare.

"No," he gasped. "No...please stop...no more. No more!"

Chatha finally let go of the Tauk and consequently fell to his knees in front of Isis, his eyes locked on the ground and shoulders heaving with labored breath.

"Bad dream?" Isis asked, and Chatha flinched.

One by one, each family member tried to take the Tauk from Isis...and each individual ended invariably the same way: collapsed or doubled over from the strain of the mental assault. Some out right fainted, and it would take no small number weeks to fully recover. Only Badr, Chisisi, and Isis' grandfater Hanif did not try to take the Tauk. They watched with respectful calculation and enough sense to not endanger themselves.

"It is set, then," Isis announced. "I am the Heir. There shall be no furthur challenges to my blood, and I shall be followed without question."

With a pointed look at Badr, Isis swept out of the Main Hall and back through the Dining Hall to go back to her room. As the sound of the heavy doors slamming resounded through the room, Badr moved over to Hanif and Chisisi, his hem sweeping across the unconcious.

"What should we do about Marik?" he asked in a low voice.

"Nothing for now," Chisisi said. "We don't have the resources for it."

"How far do you think he'll go?" Hanif mused aloud.

"We've already managed to search the local village...no one has seen him. But I'm not surprised. He's better than that."

"And if he's not at the village to the south?" Badr asked.

"Then there's nothing but desert for miles in every direction. Marik was trained well, but even he can't hide from the sun," Chisisi answered.

"But night is falling. He'll have a head start."

"He had a head start as soon as he touched that infernal Rod."

"The Rod isn't what I'm concerned about," Hanif interrupted. "I think that...there are more important issues that we must now deal with."

Chisisi looked at Hanif out of the corner of his eyes, his lips thinning.

"I agree," he said at length. "Badr, stay here and help them." He motioned towards the unconcious before leaving the Hall with Hanif. Badr only watched them go, his eyes narrowing before leaning over to go about his duty.

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Hanif and Chisisi made their way through the corridors, dodging the pieces of rubble and waiting until they were well away from the Main Hall before they started speaking.

"Do you think it's wise?" Chisisi asked, knowing that Hanif needed to explanation of his question.

"It's the only option we have. I know the Rod would rebel, but I didn't think it would happen this quickly. The good thing, though, is that Isis has the Tauk."

"Do you think she'll do it?"

"Yes. She still cares for Marik, and she'll want to help him."

"......Will it be enough?"

"Well, I don't think that the Millennium Puzzle has been solved yet, wherever it is. We would know if it had been. It will buy us time, if anything."

"You're saying someone already has the Puzzle?"

Hanif did not answer directly, but sighed heavily.

"The end is coming. I do know that. What matters now is that we play our cards right so that it ends our way. And the first card.....Isis!" Hanif called out, his voice raising to summon his granddaughter. Isis stopped and turned, her fists clenching at the sight of them.

"Yes, grandfather? Will it be you as well?"

"No, child," Hanif answered, closing the gap between them and yet keeping a polite distance. "I was hoping you'd listen to a suggestion your uncle and I have."

Isis frowned, but did not turn away.

"Actually, it's more of a proposition. We may know of a way for you to help Marik. In fact, we could help everyone."

"...I'm listening."

"It's a bit of a long story. Won't you join us in the Library?"

Nodding once, Isis followed her uncle and grandfather to the south end of the manor, where the Library sat...its shelves mostly empty of everything but dust.

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The desert night was like red wine: light, dry, and bitter. Hunger stirred in Marik's stomach as a numbing fatigue settled in his bones. He had gotten an early start on the evening, rousing himself out of an uneasy rest just as the sun was setting. The ocean of dunes had seemed less formidable, then, but now it was turning cold, and he was thirsty. Silence followed Marik across the sand, with only the Rod giving any shade of company. The Rod was not heavy, but Marik's constant grip on it sent severe cramps through his fingers. The Item was also strangely quiet, though it was not the disinterested silence of the desert. With each mental nudge Marik gave, he was returned the air of someone thinking of something else.

For hours Marik traveled, his mind filled with fervent hopes that he was going in the right direction. The minutes glazed over him like syrup, and tremors began to wrack his thighs and shoulders. He had never exercised so hard in his life, and the strain was shortening his breath. Each step grew shorter and slower, so the moon had long since passed its zenith before Marik found the road.

He first saw the lights—a dim orange glow that rimmed the top of a dune.

Quickly dropping to his hands and knees, Marik crawled up the side of the dune, raising his head just enough to peer over the edge.

The rest stop and refueling station was the only one for miles—the halfway point between Suez and Cairo, becoming a modern oasis for weary drivers. Marik's place in the sand was far enough away that he could not be seen, but could just catch parts of conversations, when they spoke loudly enough.

The trucks that were parked outside were larger than any vehicle Marik had ever seen, but any hint of interest towards them was pushed aside at the promise of food and water inside. Giving a lick to his dry lips, Marik slid down the dune and stopped in a quiet heap at the base. The ground had become rough and sturdy beneath his feet; a testimony to the road that was slowly being taken over by the shifting sands. The street lights surrounding the area were bright, and they hummed quietly as they created large halos of orange illumination on the ground. The pools of light were revealing, but beyond their boundaries, the night was as black as a blind man's world. Marik stayed well within these shadows, and kept hidden as he approached the back of the rest stop. From this vantage point he could see in through the building's windows, and he trembled at the thought of water. All he needed was to get in undetected.

Marik's schemes to get inside were interrupted as the side door was kicked wide open. Out stepped one of the rest stop's employees, who was grumbling under his breath and carrying a large trash bag. Sensing his opportunity, Marik waited until the man was all the way to the dumpster so he could quickly sneak in.

The back room was fairly small, and it only had one light, so Marik was able to easily disappear among the numerous boxes and pallets. He shrank as far back as he could go while the employee returned and passed through to go back up front. When all was quiet, Marik heaved a sigh of relief and sat back to relax. Looking around, he could see that most of the products were wrapped in loose brown paper, and Marik reached up to tear a strip away. Revealed was a number of boxes of crackers, and though the writing on it was incomprehensible to Marik, the pictures were enough incentive for him to rip open the box and start eating the pale wafers. They were hardly filling, but they were salty, and it calmed his upset stomach.

Cases of bottled water were only a few feet away, and Marik quickly drank a bottle before finally slowing his intake. It would only make him more ill in the long run, and sickness was not something he could afford. A few muffled voices made Marik freeze in his tracks, and when the sound of a door opening reached his ears, he rushed to hide his activity and slink back into a tiny alcove. He covered his mouth to quiet his breathing, and he clutched at the Rod with desperate hope that he would not be found.

"You're lucky I was able to get these cases in. I had to order a rush delivery."

"Thank you for doing it. We had a late customer request, and we couldn't delay the delivery date for the others. It's a long enough drive from Suez, as it is."

Centuries of isolation had given the Ishtars a different sort of egyptian dialect—an extremely archaic form of arabic that had evolved on its own into almost a completely unique language. Marik could not understand what the two men were saying, but the names of cities never changed, and he straightened at the mention of Suez. Risking discovery, Marik crawled forward a few inches and craned his neck out to listen for more mentions of the port city.

"Are you going to be staying a few hours?" the first voice asked.

"No. Not this time. I have to get Cairo by tomorrow morning, and then back to Suez the following day. Thanks for ordering the cases, you're a life saver."

"I'll help you load them."

Marik retreated back into the recess as a man came near to retrieve a pallet jack and giving Marik a flash of a bright red shirt. The boy kept a tight rein on his emotions until the two disappeared, their voices fading as the door shut. Marik licked his lips nervously, hands wringing along the Rod. He had heard the second man mention Suez several times, leaving Marik to conclude that it was there the man was headed to. Coming to his decision within seconds, Marik escaped back out through the side door and ran to the front of the building, making sure to keep low and in the shadows.

From his stopping point near a vending machine, Marik scanned the forest of trucks until he saw two men, one with a red shirt and trailing a case of product behind him. Steeling his nerves, Marik followed them to a smaller delivery truck...one with a large tarp as the back covering. A silent prayer of thanks ran through Marik's mind, and he crouched beside a larger truck's tire to wait. The men quickly added the crate to the truck's cargo, and they said their farewells. The owner of the rest stop turned around to go back inside, and the driver walked back up to the front. With speed beyond anything he had ever done before, Marik ran to the truck and stepped up by the bumper. He squeezed in between the tarp and the truck's side wall, and he collapsed against the cargo in a undeniable surge of relief. He had made it...he was escaping to Suez, and he would finally be free of his danger.

The truck was started and it lurched into the road, knocking Marik painfully against the boxes. Shaking it off, Marik climbed on top of one of the lower rising stacks and curled up. The roar of the engine and rockings were disconcerting at first, but it was not long before the sound of the wind and the feel of the tires on the road lulled Marik into a deep sleep.

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To be continued.

Meanings of names are thus:

Yafeu: (egyptian) "Bold"

Chisisi: (egyptian) "Secret"

Hanif: (egyptian) "Believes"

Chatha: (egyptian) "Ends"


	5. Arco

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Aria of the Divine

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! And all related characters therein do not belong to me. They belong to Kazuki Takahashi. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Summary: From birth, Marik Ishtar has been bound to fate. As he struggles to forge his own path...to regain a lost power...he becomes entangled in a war between gods, and the Millennium Rod may just have a plan of its own.

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Author's Note: Okay, names. Since the names seem to be causing some, ah, issues...here is my reasoning for the names I'm using.

First of all, Marik. The Japanese have the odd tendency to switch their "R"s and "L"s around, so both are used. It's a Japanese inconsistency that can be found in several places. For those who have seen the Petshop of Horrors DVD, you will have noticed this contradiction in the scene where there is a poster for the actor Robin Hendrix while the characters pronounce it Hendlix. In the subbed version of Yu-Gi-Oh!, you can hear the characters saying both Marik and Malik. I prefer the sound of Marik, so that is the one I am using.

Odion. I know some people want me to use the Japanese form, which no one can seem to agree on how it's spelled or even pronounce. Not only is Odion simpler to say and type, but it is an actual Egyptian name, and it means "Born of Twins." I don't particularly wish to use the Japanese form, because Odion is not Japanese. He is an Egyptian. So I will use the actual Egyptian name.

Isis. Same reasoning as Odion. Not only easier to say and type than "Ishizu," but it is an actual Egyptian name ( a myth name for the goddess of magic). Because she is Egyptian, I will use that form instead of the Japanese form.

Review Responses!

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Elusia: I'm glad you like it! I love writing Marik...he really has a lot more to his character than a lot of people write, and he is a lot of fun to write. Thanks for reviewing!

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HANDHELD Uber Rei Modely 05: I know! Marik's so abused...and yes, his yami will come into play...what would a Marik story be if Yami Marik wasn't there? Only, I might be doing it just a little differently...

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Nightengale13: I'm so glad you've read Aria now! Grins It took some pushing, but I got you here! I really want to thank you for helping me with chapter five...your assistance is greatly appreciated. I enjoy your criticisms because it helps me find stuff I wouldn't find otherwise, and it helps me improve. I hope chapter five lives up to yours and everyone else's expectations. Talk to you later!!

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IcyPanther: I'm glad you're enjoying the story! Yes...he's on his way to Cairo, the poor guy. hugs Marik I've realized and come to terms with the fact that the more I love a character, the more I torture them. I wonder if I have some sort of complex...

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K.O.B Writer: Good! And I will finish! Sorry this chapter took so long....I had to buy a new version of Microsoft Word, since my trial version expired.

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Expletive deleted: Yay! Another Ishtar fan!! huggles They're so much fun to work with, even if they do challenge my patience once in a while (read: every frickin' two minutes!!!!). AND you get another cookie for agreeing with me on their names. I think you and I are the only two people in the entire world who go by the names I've chosen. When I take over the world, will you be my minion? As for the Rod....smiles slowly you'll just have to keep reading. Of course, if you want hints/spoilers/flat out statements as to what it will be like later on in the story, check out my other fics. I work with the Items a lot, and it would be neat to hear your opinion on them!

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Chapter Five "Arco"

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Arco: a note to string players to use the bow rather than pluck the strings

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It was a lonely place, the field. The hills stretched to the horizon in every direction, while the long grass rippled like water in the bitter wind. A blanket of rain clouds covered the sky, turning the earth into a pale mix of washed out pastels. It was a cold and eerie sort of place, but Marik was more concerned about the crack in the stone. The stone was hardly a large one-it made only the minimum requirements to be thought of as a boulder-and it was covered in moss, but it was the only thing that broke the monotony of grass and wind, and it had a crack in it.

Marik sat before the rock, hands resting on his knees as the dampness of the ground seeped through his pathetically thin layer of clothing. He was wet and cold, but the stone was cracked. It was only a small split, as the jagged line stretched only inches on the vertical from the center of the stone, but the edges were a charred black, and a mass of worms writhed behind it.

Even as he spoke them, the words sounded odd to Marik's ears.

"I'm stuck in the silhouette."

As Marik reached out to touch the fissure, the edges melted away, quickly eating up the rest of the stone and becoming a black sludge that oozed down Marik's fingers and hands and exposing the worms within.

"Rip them one by one," Marik said as he dug his nails deeper into the slime. "Tear them two by two."

The rock melted quickly, but as the mire spread across the ground, it became a rich golden color, and the grass became a waving mass of wheat. The sky hardened into a frozen shell of royal purple, and though the light never dimmed, the air grew colder, and Marik could see his breath mist in front of him. A small, dark patch no larger than a human skull was all that remained of the rock, as well as the ball of worms. It was only moments, however, before the worms began to change as well, and Marik pulled his hand out of the congealing sludge. He watched with an artist's stare as the worms rolled and twisted so tightly until they became a single creature, and they traded their smooth skin for rough and layered scales. Marik stepped back as the viper reared up out of its stained nest, its tongue flickering in and out as the mud dripped away from its head like blood. When it turned its inky eyes onto him, Marik knew what was going to happen, and he wanted to run, but his muscles turned to molasses, and he could move only inches before the snake struck, embedding its fangs deep into his right hand.

Marik fell to the ground, his voice too tired to scream, and as he realized that an odd sort of numbness was settling into his head and heart, he settled for watching the dew, once perfect drops of clear water and now the color of finely aged champagne, settle onto the swaying stalks of wheat.

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All I need is a moment.

The world spun in and out of focus as Marik woke, and his eyes watered from the onslaught of sunlight that was flooding through the gap between the tarp and truck wall. A muted collection of sounds pooled in Marik's ears, and he twitched his nose against the smell of burning trash and fried foods. Once his orientation was found, Marik climbed off his stack of boxes and crouched down in the small space between the cargo and loading ramp. He pulled back the tarp and cautiously peered out, allowing for only the minimum of his body to be seen. It was early morning yet, and the air was still cool and quiet. The rose-tinted light was heavily filtered through the closely packed buildings, and it was the deep patches of shadow that gave Marik the courage to pull the tarp farther back.

The Khan el-Khalili, or "The Khan," as it was known to the locals, was at a corner of a triangle of markets, and it was a premier shopping destination for natives and tourists of Cairo alike. It was a bazaar that had essentially survived since the fourteenth century, and though it had seen an endless procession of merchants and vendors, there were a few permanent shops--businesses that had been passed down through the generations. A labyrinth of alleys and unnamed streets cut their way through the _souk_, and it was into one such dead-end lane that the truck finally stopped. The alley was a large one, separating the shops from a row of run-down apartments. Clotheslines connected opposite facing balconies, where cracked and weathered flower pots stood in stark contrast against the dark walls. A layer of dirt and grit coated the pavement, accompanied by several pieces of shapeless pieces of plastics and trash, but the alley was also abandoned, so Marik thought it to be heavenly. He fished the Rod out of a crevice between two boxes and made to climb out of the truck. Swinging his leg over the raised loading ramp, Marik sought his balance against a lift chain, but the Rod made his grip difficult, and he slipped from the bumper and fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

Marik's nose crinkled in disgust as he tasted the dust in his mouth, and the awkward stretching of his legs made him groan as he sat up. He had slept cramped up in the truck for several hours, and his muscles ached as he tried to stand.

"Hey, you! What are you doing!?"

Snapping his head up at the sound of the driver's voice, Marik ignored the twinges in his spine and shoulders and jumped to his feet. He quickly brought his hands behind him to hide the Rod, but the gold glinted traitorously in the climbing morning sun.

"How did you get in there? And what are you holding?"

The driver was approaching Marik from the head of the truck, near the alley's end wall, leaving escape an easy option, but Marik stayed his ground. He was still slightly sleepy, making his limbs heavy and sluggish, and though he could not understand what the driver was saying, he knew what his sudden appearance from the truck-bed would look like. He had had enough experience with encountering angry relatives after emerging from an unauthorized trip to the kitchens to know that it was better to stay and explain.

"I'm sorry...I just needed a ride...please, is this Suez?" Marik asked as he backed up a few steps and slid the Rod up his sleeve to conceal it properly. The driver's brow furrowed in confusion, and he lengthened his stride towards the strange boy.

"What language is that?...are you lost? Where are your parents?"

"I didn't take anything, I promise. Just let me go," Marik continued, hoping that the driver would start speaking his language.

"English?" the driver asked. At Marik's confused expression, he tried again. "Francais?"

Marik frowned, his nervousness growing with each approaching step. It was possible that this man worked for his family, and was trying to frighten him with gibberish. He decided to just put his head down and make a run for it, but as he tried to leave, the man reached out and grabbed the back collar of his robe, holding him fast.

"Listen, I'm just trying to help-what is that?"

Marik stared down in horror as he noticed that the Rod was slipping out of his sleeve and was close to falling to the ground. The driver, with a slightly mesmerized glaze in his eyes at the sight of the golden metal, reached for the Rod, but Marik was quicker. He grabbed the Item with both hands and doubled over slightly to protect it.

"Where did you get that?" the driver asked, his voice suddenly filling with suspicion. The Khan el-Khalili was filled with gold and jewelry dealers, and the rarer the piece, the more the attempts at thievery.

"You stole that, didn't you? You're a thief!" the driver exclaimed, and brought Marik closer so as to grab the Rod.

"I don't know what you're saying!" Marik yelled and delivered a harsh kick to the larger man's shins.

"Why you little-"

Marik swung his arm up and slammed the Rod into the man's face, the sharp edge of the flare carving a deep gash through his ear. The driver screamed in agony, and Marik took the opportunity to tear away and sprint out of the alley. The man was in too much pain to immediately follow, but his grip had torn a large piece of Marik's robe away from his back, exposing his shoulder blades and upper half of his spine.

It was not far to the main road of Sikkit al-Badistan, and it would have been easy for Marik to disappear amongst the morning crowd that was starting to filter out into the streets, but the driver was far from incapacitated, and he took chase. Followed by accusing yells, Marik burst out onto one of the widest streets of the Khan and pushed his way into the throngs of people. The driver was screaming at the bystanders to "grab the boy," but by the time they had registered the statement, Marik was beyond their reach. He disappeared easily into the growing crowd of people, and often he would stop and pretend to admire the colorful Beduoin dresses while others would mull past him. He backtracked several times before finally crouching down in a cluster of potted plants near a small, but relatively lavish café. In the security of the leaves, Marik quickly shifted the Rod from his sleeve to a deep inside pocket of his robe, where the Item would remain but not have its shape betrayed. It felt odd to not have the Item in his grip, but Marik shook it off and peered through the plant's thick stems. Most of the café's tables were facing away from him and out towards the street, so no one had noticed his presence. The driver was nowhere to be seen, and no one else seemed to be in any state of high emotion.

Marik sighed in deep relief and settled back against the pots. He was tired, and a thirst itched in his throat. He needed a place to think, and his instincts sought for the darkest, most closed off spot he could find. Marik had run away from the Ishtar manor, but he was far from free of it. Taking a deep breath, Marik steeled his nerves and stood--calmly, as though he had bent to pick something up--to survey the area. Almost immediately, his lungs closed off and a prickling numbness climbed up his arms and into his head. He had been able to stop and absorb the situation he was in, and it rushed to his gut like a swift kick. There were people everywhere...their voices a dull, shapeless roar in his ears, and their clothes a dizzying rainbow of color. He had been to the village before, but the wave of lights, horns, shouts, and music from the café assaulted him brutally, and he staggered back against the wall. With each passing second, dread filled him. He was lost...he knew no one...and they were after him....

A sudden blaring from a car horn thoroughly startled Marik, and he jumped, only to lose his balance and collapse into a nearby display of pottery--sending the racks crashing into the ground. Groaning, Marik tried to pull himself up and was only vaguely aware of shouting until a man yanked him up and started yelling at him. Marik tried to pull away, but the shopkeeper kept a firm grip on his wrists. Spittle was flying in his face and though he still did not understand what the man was saying, he tried to apologize.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! Let me go!"

"Do you have any idea how much this cost me, you little brat!? Your parents better have some way to pay for it!"

"I said leave me alone!" Marik yelled back and struggled wildly. The shopkeeper drew back a hand as though to smack him, but another arm shot out and stopped the descent.

A few of the more knowing locals quickly backed away from the newcomer, as they recognized his ice blue eyes and sandy hair that fell down over shoulders expensively covered with a black blazer.

"Surely such violence is unnecessary," the man said with a calm, deep voice. "Especially against a child."

"He broke the entire display! Everything is ruined!"

"I'm sure it can be replaced." The man released the shopkeeper's hand and reached into his pocket to pull out a checkbook. "I'll pay whatever you think it was worth."

"But--"

"Unless, of course, you feel that the money of Harun Harari is not good enough."

The shopkeeper's face blanched, and his Adam's apple bobbed under deep gulps. Harun Harari was one of the richest and most influential men in Cairo, and his presence commanded respect wherever he traveled. If one truly wanted to exist in the upper echelon of society, they had to go through Harun first.

"You're right," he said. "It can be replaced. I'm sure it was an accident."

Harun frowned disapprovingly and quickly scrawled out a check.

"Here. I'm sure this will cover the damages. Now give me the boy. I'm taking him with me."

Marik was immediately handed over, and the shopkeeper disappeared quickly back into his shop to set his employees to clean up the mess. In shock, and not entirely sure of what happened, Marik tried to fight against Harun's grip, but the older man was surprisingly strong. He dragged Marik easily back to the café's parking lot, where another man waited beside a large black car. The door was opened for the two of them, and the chauffeur quickly climbed back in and started the car up. Panicking, Marik kicked and squirmed his way to the other side of the back seat. Harun had let him go, but he no longer needed physical restraint. Marik froze the moment he heard not only his language, but his name fall from his captor's lips.

"Now, why don't you explain to me what you're doing so far from home, Ishtar."

Marik's eyes widened in unfiltered terror, and he pressed himself tightly against the side door.

"Of course, this may not be the best place to speak," Harun said as he settled back into his seat. His eyes seemed to glow unnaturally behind their curtain of butterscotch bangs, and his upper lip thinned in concentration. "We'll get you to the house first, and then I'll think of something..."

But Marik no longer heard him. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest, and a rush of vertigo made his head swim. The slight breeze from the air conditioning vents felt suddenly hot and heavy, causing him to gasp for breath.

Harun had turned back to Marik, his gaze clouding with concern. He reached for the boy but Marik flinched away and curled his arms around his torso. The pain was a dull knife that rotated in his ribs...twisting around itself a heavy weight of dread.

__

'I'm going to die,' Marik thought. _'All this way...and I'm going to die.'_

He could feel the Rod quiver in his pocket, and the tattoo on his back itched.

__

'I should have known...they got me...I wasn't...fast...enough...'

Marik whimpered as the world around him faded...not noticing as Harun pulled a needle from a bag under the seat and injected it into his arm. He fainted as the drug flooded through his veins and drove back the pain...calming his racing heart....and the world was black before Harun gathered him in his arms and buried his face into Marik's hair.

"Not yet," the man whispered. "I have to get you home first."

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To be continued.

The meaning of the name Harun:

Harun--the Arabic form of "Aaron," meaning "superior, exalted."


	6. Celesta

**Aria of the Divine**

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! And all related characters therein do not belong to me. They belong to Kazuki Takahashi and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary:** From birth, Marik Ishtar as been bound to fate. As he struggles to forge his own path...to regain a lost power...he becomes entangled in a war between gods, and the Millennium Rod may just have a plan of its own.

**Author's Note: **A word about the numbering of floors (such as in a house, hotel, etc.) in foreign countries: What we Americans call the "first floor" is known abroad as the "ground floor." Our "second floor" corresponds to their "first floor." E.g.: If you were staying in a hotel in France, if you wanted to get to the second floor, you'd have to select the button for the first. If you wanted the third floor, you'd select the button for the second. If you wanted the lobby, you'd have to select the button for the ground floor. I hope that makes sense.

Review Responses:

**OBSESSED Uber Rei Model 07** OMG! Was pretty much my reaction as well when I was finally able to update. As for what will happen to Marik...I'm afraid you'll have to read to find out, but I can tell you that, knowing me, there will most likely be yaoi. I just have to figure out where to put it in!

**Expletive deleted** Updates make me happy too! I hope this chapter is worth your wait.

**Fantasysangel: **Am I correct in assuming you got AoD off of the LJ community "Malik Addict"? If so, awesome! Nobody has posted on it for a while, I wasn't sure how active the community was. I'm glad you like the story and I hope you'll keep reading!

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Chapter Six "Celesta"

_Celesta: a small keyboard that uses hammers to strike metal bars to give a ringing sound. _

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Marik woke slowly, and he was first aware of a pair of arguing voices. One was flustered and full of irritation, while the other provided calm counterpoints and sounded almost bored. As his conciousness climbed, Marik identified the aloof, disinterested voice to be Harun's, but the other, which was certainly male, was new. Like Harun, he spoke Marik's language, but there was a strange, heavy accent to it, like he was trying to eat at the same time he talked. Marik's stomach churned at the thought of more people, but he kept his eyes closed and pretended to still be asleep.

"It was a severe attack, Sebestyen. What other option did I have? Besides, I didn't even give him a quarter of it."

"I'm breaking enough rules just maing this damned drug for you without having you _guess_ on dosage, Harun! You could have just as easily killed him."

Marik twitched violently, and he could not stop a small cry of surprise leaping from his throat. The argument was ceased immediately, and the stranger named Sebestyen was immediately at Marik's bedside. He pried Marik's eyes open and shined a small flashlight into them, making Marik groan and try to pull away. He soon realized that he was strapped to the bed, rendered nearly immobile. Sebestyen ignored Marik's insistent tugs against the buckles and continued to check his pulse and breathing. Harun watched from several feet away, speaking up only after an unnaturally long puase of Sebestyen's stethoscope against Marik's chest.

"See? He's fine."

"He's _lucky_, Sebestyen corrected and pinched the skin atop Marik's hand to let it slowly drop back. "And he's hardly fine. He's severely malnourished and dehydrated. I'm going to put him on IV for about half an hour or so. It wil be enough to start him of with. After that, we'll keep him on close watch...gradually reintroduce food into his system."

"And?" Harun pressed, causing Sebestyen to sigh heavily.

"And I'll send out for another shipment of the medicine..._after_ he's healthy again and I've worked out a proper dosage."

Seemingly content with Marik's vitals, Sebestyen walked away and bent over to type something into a laptop.

"I'll start testing for allergies tomorrow, and then I'll order some vaccines. He needs to be immunized immediately, and I would recommend a dentist within the next couple of months. He has cavaties and gingivitis. However, his ears and eyes are good, and his lungs sounded all right. Come here," Sebestyen said as he wheeled an IV stand to Marik's bed. Harun followed and waited patiently as the doctor prepared the catheter and vein on the underside of Marik's right arm. As he inserted the needle, Marik winced at the sharp sting, but the pain was quickly gone.

"Stay here and make sure he doesn't try to dislodge the catheter. The straps should hold him, and I'll put it on slow drip to make it a little more comfortable, but don't let him struggle too much. This will take around half an hour, so I'll run to the hospital and see if I can get some of the influenza vaccines...he's too high risk to let it wait. I'll be back by the time the bag runs out," Sebestyen said and gathered up his laptop and bag. Harun nodded and sat down in a chair near Marik's head.

"I'll be here," Harun assured. Sebestyen gave a slight bow of acknowledgement and strode out the door. After he was gone, Harun turned his attention back to Marik, who was eyeing him back warily.

"Let me guess," Harun said as he steepled his fingers and settled into his seat. "You were never a healthy child. You have frequently had sleepless nights, you get dizzy and were never allowed to play for very long, otherwise you would run out of breath and collapse from exhaustion. And this is certainly not the first time you have fainted from severe chest pain."

Marik's eyes widened with each statement Harun so calmly made, and he felt the color drain from his face.

"How"

"Mitral Valve Prolapse, also known as Barlow's Syndrome, with Dysautonomia. You, young Ishtar, have a heart condition. But don't worry, it's not life-threatening...just uncomfortable when it decides to act up. And believe me when I say I know how it feels. I have it too."

"Who—who are you?" Marik questioned, the words sounding odd in his suddenly dry mouth.

"Right now, I'm the only friend you have," Harun answered and got up from his chair. He walked to the foot of Marik's bed and leaned against the frame of a large window that overlooked the outer edge of the Cairo metropolis. The morning sun was clear of the horizon, and it created bright patches of light on the floor and sea-foam walls. The room was an odd mix of a doctor's office and a library, with medical books littering the shelves and countertops. It all seemed thrown together with little consideration for design or for it to serve just one purpose. Harun _hated_ it, and even with Marik to divert his focus, his posture remained stiff and uncomfortable.

Harun stood at the window for a long time...the sun was notably higher in the sky before he spoke again. "I promise not to hurt you, Ishtar, and I certainly will not be returning you to your family."

"But why?" Marik cried out, his voice edging into desperation. "Why would you help me? How do you even know who I am?"

Harun twisted slightly to look over his shoulder at Marik, and the angle of sunlight caught his hair to create a hazy, golden halo around his head. His expression was a mix of sadness and resignation—the look of one who had lost any hope of redemption.

"That tattoo on your back speaks volumes," Harun answered. "As does that rather unique language you use. You were actually quite easy to recognize."

Marik let out a choked sob and let his head drop back to the bed to stare at the plain, eggshell colored ceiling.

"Suez," he whispered in what he was quickly suspecting to be a useless hope.

"What?" Harun asked, and he moved away from the window to crouch near Marik's head.

"Please tell me this is at least Suez."

Whatever Harun had expected Marik to say, it had not been that, and he blinked in surprise before he quickly schooled his feature again.

"I'm not sure how you ended up here if you were trying to get to Suez, Ishtar, but you're in Cairo. Suez is one hundred and twenty kilometers east of here...it takes several hours just to drive there."

Marik closed his eyes tightly, and he turned his head away under the crushing realization that he had gone the wrong way.

"Whoever told you to go to Suez must have wanted to try and get you out by boat," Harun said thoughtfully. When Marik refused to face him, Harun smiled gently and raised his hand to tilt the boy's face back towards him. Harun held him there by laying a palm against Marik's cheek and massaging small circles into his temple.

"I know you aren't exactly inclined to trust anyone, but I promise you're safe with me."

"I've done...bad things," Marik whispered back.

"I'd be amazed if you hadn't," Harun replied. He tried to smile, but it was more a restrained grimace, as though touching Marik pained him. He slowly drew his hand away, his fingertips grazing Marik's cheekbones as sweat lined his palm.

"Promise me you'll be still, Ishtar. I need to step outside for a moment," Harun said and stood up, swaying slightly with loss of balance.

"All right," Marik agreed. Harun was almost out when Marik's voice stopped him. "Marik," he said. "My name is Marik."

The corner of Harun's lips twitched upwards, and he nodded before quickly exiting the room. Once the door clicked shut behind him, Harun collapsed to his knees, and his arms crossed over his chest as he clutched at his shoulders. Rivulets of sweat lined his brow, and his body shuddered under gasping breaths. Harun could barely hear the rushed footsteps and concerned voice of his doctor.

"Harun! Is it your heart too?" Sebestyen questioned, and he automatically reached for the emergency syringe he kept in his coat. Sebestyen reached for the other man, but Harun flinched violently and pulled away to press against the wall.

"No! It...it's not..."

"This happened two nights ago...will you at least let me"

"No, don't touch me! Don't touch...it's better...to just let it be. It...it will go away," Harun said, and he doubled over so that his chest was pressed along the length of his thighs. "Just...go help Marik...he needs you."

Sebestyen hesitated, but when Harun pulled away from him for a second time, the doctor stood and left Harun in the hallway.

"Where's Harun?" Marik asked as he saw Sebestyen enter the room.

"He went back downstairs," Sebestyen answered and reached up to check the IV fluid. "He wasn't feeling well."

"Oh...your name is Sebestyen, right?"

"Yes, it is."

"How do you know what I'm saying?"

Sebestyen unbuckled the straps and helped Marik up into a sitting position while he removed the catheter and placed a piece of gauze over the tiny wound.

"Harun taught me the language. Now bend your arm back and hold it there."

"Everyone else I've talked to...they...why does everyone else speak differently? How does Harun know?"

"That's for him to tell you," Sebestyen answered and pulled a small container off a nearby shelf. "All right, that's good. You can stretch your arm out again."

Marik did as he was told and Sebestyen replaced the gauze with a bright orange band-aid. Blinking at the color, Marik immediately reached down and began to pick at it.

"Leave the bandage alone. I don't want to have to worry about you getting an infection on top of everything else. Do you think you're feeling well enough to walk?"

"Yes."

"Then come with me," Sebestyen said and helped Marik down off the table, making sure to keep his support of the boy's balance firm. Marik staggered, but the doctor held his hand and took small, slow steps. Sebestyen stopped at the door, and he opened it almost warily, but Marik had barely the time to consider the pause before the older man led him out into the now-empty hallway.

"Harun tells me your name is Marik," Sebestyen said.

"Mm hmm," Marik hummed, keeping his gaze trained down at the mahoghany wood flooring.

"Well, Marik, let me start by explaining where you are. This house belongs to Harun—only he and a few hired help live here, though I stay occasionally. Right now we're on the second floor...your room, along with Harun's, is on the first. The ground floor has the dining room, conference room, and library. Harun picked out your room while he was bringing you back here...I can't say I care much for his priorities, but it saves us the trouble now. Watch your step," Sebestyen cautioned and helped his young charge down the stairs.

The second floor had been uninteresting—pale and washed out with little care for décor—but at the bottom of the steps, the dark wood floor shifted seamlessly into almond-cream carpet, and a wood moulding eased the transition from white to dramatically maroon walls. Gilded mirrors hung at regular intervals on the wall, their glass crackled and slightly smoky. Black iron stands stood on either side of each mirror, displaying large marble vases with spectacular specimens of Chinese Evergreens. The scent of cinnamon hung heavily in the air, and wall sconces carved in alabaster held quiet, melancholy lights.

"Harun was in one of his more somber moods when he had this hallway decorated," Sebestyen explained as Marik looked upwards to a wide, arched ceiling. "Fortunately, your room is a bit more cheerful."

Here Sebestyen stopped, and he pushed open a cherry wood door into a comfortably large room with oat-cake colored walls and a milky ceiling. Sheer curtains covered a set of darkly framed French doors, and a low slung bed with red covers waited patiently on the far right wall. A large dresser and mirror stood opposite the bed, while a grandfather clock stood watch in the corner next to a bookcase. The floor was made of light hardwood, but a center rug made of reds, blues, greens, and whites provided gentler footing.

Marik hung back guardedly, but Sebestyen eased him in.

"Come on, Marik. I'll show you where everything is."

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With the soft click of the door, Sebestyen shut Marik into his new room—relieved that the boy responded so well to the muscle relaxants that he had added in with the IV fluids. It was a more subtle way of keeping Marik confined than a lock, and it was less traumatizing. Marik had been falling asleep in less than fifteen minutes, and Sebestyen was confident that the boy would not be trying to escape in his weakened state...not to mention that Harun had effectively piqued the boy's curiosity.

Sighing heavily, Sebestyen leaned against the wall and massaged his forehead, willing away the blossoming headache.

"I'm too old for this," he muttered. Finding Harun would require more stamina than he had at the moment, and he let himself rest.

At fifty two years old, Sebestyen was twenty years Harun's senior, and the stress of doubling as hospital staff and Harun's private physician was beginning to catch up...he still had several years of stamina left, though Sebestyen knew that once the fatigue became too much, and he would be forced to give up one of his positions, there would be no question as to where his loyalties were set.

Catching a pale flash in the corner of his eye, Sebestyen jerked his head up and was met with his hazy reflection in the mirror across from him. The glass was the same as it had been for the past several years: clean and unremarkable, but Sebestyen could still not tear his eyes away. The more he stared, the more his reflection seemed hollow, pale, and flat. With a resigned sigh, Harun pushed himself upright and moved to stand directly in front of the mirror, his arm oustretched and palm nearly flat against it's surface. No matter how many times he had done this, it always felt damned uncomfortable, and he hated it. Still...he had to find Harun.

Sebestyen let his eyes slide closed, and he slowed his breathing so he could focus inwards, finding and grasping every part of his inner being he could find and directed it back to the mirror. It was always easier to send the energy to his right hand, giving it a place to go rather than let it simmer all throughout his limbs, but it had to be done quickly, as his hand suddenly grew unbearably heavy with an unseen weight. Once his arm began to shake with the effort, and he felt his concentration become in danger of breaking, Sebestyen stepped forward, and his hand—followed by the rest of his body—passed through the mirror and wall, leaving the hallways as it had been before: silent and abandoned.

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The secret stairwell was one of several in the house, but it was the only one that led to a small, closed off section of the basement—completely unfinished, as only the ceiling and walls were sealed with cement, and there was no flooring except for the dirt itself. Sebestyen stood on the landing, disoriented from his passage and the sudden lack of light. It was completely dark, but past experience had taught Sebestyen's arm exactly where to reach out for the solitary torch. As his fingers closed around the cold metal handle, he let the lingering itch on his palm leap to the candle, and it burst to life with a bright, if slightly off-color flame.

Wishing he had spent a few more minutes out in the hall to regain his strength, Sebestyen shook his head and started down the stairs. He immediately started to breathe through his mouth, as the air was dank and stale—the walls glistened with mold in the torchlight.

"Harun," Sebestyen softly called out, his voice barely echoing in the seemingly endless well of blackness. "Harun, I'm coming down, all right?"

Thirteen steps. Thirteen more to go.

Sebestyen called to Harun on every other step, making sure to keep his footfalls light, but far from silent. Once he reached the bottom, Sebestyen set the torch into a sconce and stepped into the pitch black room—the light was allowed no farther.

"Harun," Sebestyen tried again. "Are you all right?"

A slight _whoosh_ of air was all the warning Sebestyen had, and he had barely the time to twist around before a smaller, but heavy body slammed into his, pushing him against the hard, slightly damp wall. Hands closed like vices around his upper arms, and unyielding hips had him pinned and allowed for little leg movement. Sebestyen made sure to relax in Harun's grip, and he whispered soothingly into the younger man's ear. Sebestyen could hear the increasingly irregularity of Harun's pounding heart, but the younger man seemed to not notice it. As long as it didn't become too out of sync...

With a pained whimper, Harun leaned forward and set his forehead against the doctor's shoulder.

"Se...Sebestyen..."

Sebestyen cocked his head so that it was resting on top of Harun's silky blonde locks, and he reached up to massage the arms that held him tightly.

"I'm right here, Harun."

"How...how is Marik?"

Sebestyen stiffened in surprise, but Harun's grip tightened painfully, and he forced himself to relax again.

"He's fine. He's asleep, right now. I gave some muscle relaxants in the IV fluid...he won't be going anywhere for a while. Or at least until tomorrow, when it will wear off."

"He won't leave. I...I don't want him to."

"Then he won't."

Harun fell quiet again, but he started to sink to the ground, and Sebestyen followed him down. Soon the doctor had Harun cradled in his lap—folded in his arms and receiving a massage to back of his neck. Harun was trembling, and Sebestyen cast around for distractions.

"Marik will need new clothes," he said. "We don't have anything to fit him now...though one of your shirts might do for a night until we get him something better. I know that Shani, one of the nurses at the hospital...she has a son, fourteen, I think...I'm sure she has some of his old clothes that she'd be willing to get rid of. I might even be able to get them tomorrow."

Harun's trembling slowed, and Sebestyen could feel that his heartbeat was settling into a more regular pattern.

"Will they come?" Harun whispered, his fingers tightening in the folds of Sebestyen's now rumpled white lab coat.

"Probably," Sebestyen answered. "But they won't find you...or Marik. I won't let them."

"They're...good at hiding."

"And I'm a doctor, Harun. I'm good at finding things. I'll keep my eyes and ears open...they'll come, but they won't have a single idea as to where you and Marik are." Sebestyen held Harun more tightly, and he placed a tender kiss on the younger man's temple. "I promise."

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To be continued...

Meaning of the name Sebestyen:

Sebestyen: Hungarian name meaning "revered."


End file.
